#or like. a loaf of bread that's been left in the back of the fridge too long and now it's too gross to touch but it's sustaining new life
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hey do you guys wanna hear about how i'm making river's backstory Worse™? of course you do
okay technically it isn't backstory so much as the actual plot of On The Wing (which isn't coherent yet but i'm getting there). for context, river is 15 years old when this happens, and so is zipper.
but basically the climax of OTW is that amity (evil science lady masquerading as a benevolent do-gooder who saves hybrid kids from unethical labs) finally manufactures a decent excuse to vivisect zipper (by mildly poisoning them and then claiming it's appendicitis) (btw she wants to experiment on them bc apparently they can't die and she wants to know more about that bc she, too, cannot die). BUT ideally she'd like to have a control specimen, and guess what! river is the same type of hybrid that zipper is!
and river has known amity for half his life already and trusts her and is so super grateful to her for rescuing him from an unethical lab. so she really doesn't need to do much legwork with manufacturing a reason to do surgery on him. instead she sits him down and says "zipper is really really sick and needs a new kidney, and you're a genetic match for them. i know you don't get along with them, and of course you don't have to agree to anything you're uncomfortable with, but it would save their life." and when she puts it like that … like, clearly there's a correct decision for him to make in this situation. but she gives him a day to think about it, because of course she knows what his answer will be anyway.
and this part is a little shakier (still working out logistics) but river thinks about it for a little bit and decides that he wants to go through with it, because it's the right thing to do, so he goes to find amity so he can tell her he'll do it. he arrives outside her office and hears her talking to agent green, one of her most trusted agents, and they're talking about river. and river doesn't want to eavesdrop, but he kind of overhears something that … well, kind of implies that amity wasn't telling the whole truth to river, but she's confident that he'll agree because he's so trusting, almost to a fault. and when river hears this, he doesn't want to think that amity's taking advantage and outright lying to him, but … that's what it SOUNDS like is happening.
now river's freaked out, kinda panicking, so he does what he always does in these situations: he goes and talks to gavin. because gavin will know what to do, he'll figure it out.
buuuut the thing is. gavin, by this point in the story, has been replaced by his clone, who is completely loyal to amity. so the REAL gavin is MIA (i haven't figured out what's going on with that yet, but i'm sure it'll fit together eventually). so river isn't talking to HIS gavin, he's talking to evil!gavin. and evil!gavin says that river must have misunderstood what he heard, or not heard the full conversation, because amity is a good lady who would never want to hurt him, and evil!gavin says they should go talk to amity together and sort things out.
so river calms down, because gavin is probably right; if amity was evil, river would know it by now; he's known her for seven years, so she would've had plenty of opportunities to take advantage of his trust if she wanted to, right?
so river and evil!gavin go talk to amity, and she laughs and reassures river that she wasn't saying what he thought she was saying, but she can understand his confusion. she was just hopeful that river would agree to be a donor for zipper, and saying that he's such a good, selfless kid that he probably would, but it wasn't up to her.
river is relieved, comforted by her reassurances, and he says of course he'll do it; he wants to help. internally, he feels kind of silly for doubting her. of course there's nothing sinister going on. why would she lie to him?
when he goes under for the surgery, he's a little nervous, but he feels confident that he made the right decision.
when he wakes up, he's in a room in a part of the foundation that he doesn't recognize, and instead of the small incision he expected, there's a big, Y-shaped incision down the full length of his torso, and suddenly he's not sure what's going on at all. because why would amity lie to him?
(undecided yet whether, at this point, amity will keep up the ruse or finally admit the truth. i think both options have interesting possibilities.)
#they speak#wip: on the wing#oc: river#vivisection tw#medical malpractice tw#this story just gets more and more fucked up the more i add to it#like finely aged story-wine#or like. a loaf of bread that's been left in the back of the fridge too long and now it's too gross to touch but it's sustaining new life#something like that
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where the stars fall.
summary: in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, you and your childhood friend, Childe, and his little brother try to survive amidst the wreckage of a broken world. things take a turn for the worse when you meet a stranger who shatters what you think you know of the world.
notes: 11k words, author's notes, descriptions of violence, murder (specifically through the use of a gun and of an unnamed stranger), unhealthy relationships, angst with no comfort
It’s the end of the world, and your childhood friend is the only person you have left.
Glass crunches underfoot as you and Childe slip in through the broken window of an abandoned grocery store. There’s not much left on the shelves: a stale loaf of black, furry bread, a forgotten wrapper, a dusty row of cracked children’s toys. Everything good has already been scavenged by other survivors.
Like most other grocery stores you’ve scavenged, the broken fridges buzz with flies swarming rotting meat. The remaining fruits are so moldy they’ve permanently stained the shelves with their decaying juice. The smell barely registers anymore; you’ve long since gotten used to the scent of the world dying.
Childe gestures at you and then the left side of the store, before pointing at himself and waving at the right side. His meaning is clear; you nod, and the two of you separate.
You pad noiselessly down the aisles, eyes wandering over the remains of a forgotten life. You’ve ended up in the beauty section: crusted lotions, murky shampoo, eyeshadow palette spilling their candy-colored guts all over the floor.
You stare longingly at the shampoo bottles, but you can’t take any. It’s an unaffordable luxury, even though you’ve forgotten when you took your last bath. The heating and electricity in most houses is failing, and the encroaching winter means the outside water sources are out of the question.
The dry goods section is desiccated. Most of the food is gone, but there is one stale sleeve of crackers left. You drop it in your backpack, grinning at the lucky find.
You straighten, before your eyes fall on a door labeled “employees only.” There might still be something worth scavenging there. You pull out the kitchen knife you keep sheathed in your pocket, the blade glinting dully as you crack open the door.
The room is dark, save for a cracked light that flickers off and on in aimless intervals. There’s a clock on the wall, frozen permanently at 2:13am, and a table in the corner where employees must have taken their breaks, alongside a microwave and– lucky for you– cardboard boxes still piled up on storage shelves. You hurry over, pulling one down. Nothing but dust, more dust– aha! A crinkled bar of chocolate. It’s still sealed, but it would be a perfect present for Teucer.
Something groans behind you, and the hair on your arms tingle. Your heart pounds as you tightly grip the handle of your kitchen knife, whipping it out as you spin– just in time to see a baseball crack through the zombie standing over you.
Blood and rotting flesh fall to the floor in wet chunks as Childe hits the zombie until it collapses to the floor. Then he hits it again. And again. Its arm twitches, and Childe smashes the limb until the bone cracks. He doesn’t stop, even when the zombie stops moving, not even when it’s just a pile of meat and pooling blood.
Childe isn’t even breathing hard when he drops his arm. His eyes are hard flecks of ice as he stares down at the zombie. For a second, he looks like a stranger.
“You okay?” Childe whispers, his gaze melting into something familiar and warm, and the familiar concern coloring his voice brings him back to you.
The two of you try to limit communication to wordless gestures and hand signals when you’re traveling outside; noise risks attracting zombies. “I’m fine,” you reply.
Childe nods, before looking over you up and down carefully, as if to confirm the veracity of your statement himself. He takes your hand without a word, lacing your fingers together. The blood on his hand smears over your combined fingers, rust and iron seeping into the folds of your skin.
But it’s Childe. You won’t pull away. You can’t, even if you hate the feeling of blood.
He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole time the two of you carefully make your way out of the grocery store, slinking down streets, sticking to the shadows and pausing to listen to the shuffle of undead feet. You keep a grip on your kitchen knife and Childe’s hand never strays far from his baseball bat, but it’s an uneventful trek back to the hotel where you’ve set up a temporary base.
The entire first floor is a wreck, the former grandeur blighted by blood and smashed furniture, wallpaper peeling off in strips, the patterns in the carpet hidden by layers of grime and dirt. The room you’ve chosen is up on the third floor; neither you and Childe have bothered to venture farther up the hotel stairs beyond that.
The electronic locks and elevators have long since broken, and the door of room 302 creaks open easily. Inside, Teucer is fiddling with a radio in his hands, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a flashlight shining like a beacon next to him, huddled by the foot of the farthest of the two beds in the room. He looks up at the two of you, his eyes bright and expectant.
It’s not until Childe securely closes the door behind him that Teucer finally launches himself at his brother, arms clinging tightly. “You’re back!” Childe barely has time to ruffle his hair before Teucer tears himself off and falls into your arms instead.
You pat his back, and a crackled voice emanates from the radio in Teucer’s hands. You can just barely make out the broken words; it might as well be a broadcast from another planet.
“... Gov… Facilities… North… Repeat…. North… Nat… tate of… gency… Repeat… Govern… North…”
Nothing you haven’t heard already. The radio has been playing the same message, over and over, for the past few months. After all, it’s only the promise of potential safety and protection that drives you and Childe to travel so far north. That, and resources are dwindling with each new city and town the three of you encounter as you follow the voice promising safety.
“I have something for you,” you say, and fish the bar of chocolate out of your bag.
Teucer’s eyes light up as he unwraps the treat. “Oh, wow!” He pauses, staring at you and then Childe, and breaks the bar into three uneven pieces.
He offers a chunk to you. You hold up your hands. “Teucer, it’s okay. That was for you.”
Teucer pouts. “Well, you gave it to me, so it’s mine now, and I get to do what I want with it. And I want to share it with you.”
You hesitate, before accepting the chocolate with two fingers. It’s softening already, leaving soft smudges on your hand. When you pop it into your mouth, it melts like a dream, flooding a sweetness into your system you haven’t tasted in months. Maybe you’ll never taste this sweetness ever again.
“Anything happen while we were gone?” Childe asks casually. Teucer fiddles with his radio again, illegible voices warbling in and out of focus like ghosts from a distant plane of existence.
“Nope,” Teucer chirps. “Just a few zombies passing by when I peeked out the window, though.”
“Teucer, I told you not to do that. What if one of them sees you?”
“Why not? I was careful, and I wanted to see when the two of you were going to come home.”
“Well, we’re home now, and Teucer is safe. Everything’s fine, so no arguing. We need to head out tomorrow, anyways,” you interrupt gently. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”
The two brothers nod at your words, and when they do that, Teucer looks just like an echo of Childe. Same messy hair, same freckles, same mischievous gleam in their eyes. You head towards the bathroom. If you’re lucky, there might be a trickle of tap water left if you turn on the sink.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to play something today?” Teucer chirps.
“I’m not…”
“You always said a good violinist should practice everyday so their skills don’t rust,” Childe adds. “Come on, aren’t you a professional?”
“The noise might draw an entire hoard of zombies to our door,” you say.
“The walls are soundproof,” Childe says.
“Just one song,” Teucer says. “I’ll even let you choose which one!”
You let out a little sigh before moving towards your violin case, snugly hidden by the side of the bed. It’s an unforgivable vanity, you know, to carry this with you. An extra weight, when you should have a bag full of rations or cold weather supplies instead. But when you were fleeing your home, facing threats from the undead and other desperate survivors alike, it had been Childe who shoved your violin into your hands. The electricity was failing. The water was tainted. Food was running out. And yet, Childe had handed you your instrument.
“We can’t take this with us,” you tried to reason with him.
“Don’t leave it behind,” Childe said curtly. “You love it, don’t you?”
You had grasped the instrument in your hands, a lifeline in the rising tides.
It’s not as if the world has any rooms for violinists now, no matter how good you are at playing. Bach and Tchaikovsky can’t save you from dying, and all the concert halls have turned to ash.
But when you fling open the lid, the glossy wood gleaming in the low light, when you tighten the bow and reverently run the horsehair along your amber rosin, when you attach your shoulder rest and bring it to your chin, it doesn’t feel like a mistake at all. Your violin slots under your chin perfectly, right where it belongs.
You pluck at the strings, turning the little knobs, listening, adjusting the pitch, and then you raise your bow letting the first few sweet notes sing in the air, before you launch into a short, bouncy waltz.
It almost feels like it used to, in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, and you’ll never feel again: you, and Childe, in Childe’s own living room. You force him to listen to you practice, something you’ve always made him do, even if he can’t even name all the notes on a sheet of music. Teucer is on Childe’s lap, too young to really pay attention, blinking sleepily in the afternoon light, which shines on you like a spotlight. It’s a poor audience, but this audience of two has always been your favorite, even if you dream of sold out stages and prestigious awards.
The memory is painful, and you shove it back down, with everything else you can’t bear to think about. There is no past for you. There’s only here, and now. There’s Teucer, smiling, old enough to finally pay attention. And there’s your friend– the one who knows you best– Childe. He’s listened to you from the beginning, and he’ll listen to you until the very end.
Childe watches you, the same way he’s always done: face turned towards you, rapt. He’s listening to you play, but it feels like it’s you he’s paying the most attention to, not your music. As if in this dying world, you’re the only one who can save him.
The three of you steal out of the hotel in the blue light of dawn, the cold a bitter chill as you creep down the stairs and make your way to the highway again. You have a map, but following the local highway is the easiest way to proceed to your location, a manmade road marking your path to safety. Cars bead the roads in one long necklace of crushed metal and metal corpses.
The cars are the remains of panicked people who tried to leave town as fast as they could, but the sheer flood of people meant the roads had easily jammed and cars idled in place. The lucky ones, who got out quickly, rode their cars until they ran out of gas before abandoning them. The others discarded their trapped cars to idle and rust as they fled on foot. And the unlucky ones, like you, Childe and Teucer, have no choice but to run as far as your legs could carry you.
Teucer is sandwiched between you and Childe as the three of you walk in silence. The world is so quiet now, a silence that has its own weight and texture. Nothing works, and there’s no one to talk to. You can’t even speak to your companions unless you want to risk the attention of zombies or other survivors.
Teucer’s portable radio hangs limply in his hands, and he lets out a raspy little cough. Instantly, you turn to him, a hand on the top of his soft curls.
Teucer shakes his head, and gives you a thumbs up. You and Childe glance at each other, before Childe sweeps Teucer onto his back. Teucer digs his heels into Childe’s sides as a protest to be let down, but Childe continues resolutely forward.
You let out a little sigh. It’s a familiar sight; ever since Teucer was a baby, Childe was always reaching for his brother with his chubby hands, holding him close to him like a treasure. You like Teucer, but you’re an only child; you can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling you love so much.
The road is long, winding and endless in front of you, but even the monotony of your travel can’t stop you from pricking your ears, listening for the shuffle of feet, or a long, winding groan. It’s not safe out in the open, and unease prickles your skin.
You pass a car, and a zombie slams its hands against the window, rotting fingers leaving stains on the glass as it claws at you, eyes sunken. Your stomach shrivels, and you bite your lip to prevent your startled cry from escaping. You can guess what happened here: someone was bitten by a zombie, escaped in a panic, but had turned before they could get very far. Still, the eyeless face turns your stomach. That could be you, if you’re not careful enough.
In the next moment, Childe takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. You look at him questioningly, but he simply smiles in return. Maybe it’s a habit from the time you’ve spent together, but Childe is always reaching for your hand. To reassure you, to reassure himself, or just to comfort you.
Childe takes care of you. He knows your moods before you do, valiantly throws himself in front of any perceived threat to you, and wants to solve all of your problems. When you were little, when he sensed you were upset, Childe used to throw rocks at your bedroom window until you let him in. He reminds you a little of a dog, but if you tell him that, he would only grin.
You sigh, but before you can even signal your thanks, a low, broken shout pierces the air. Instantly, both you and Childe tense; you grab your knife and jerk out of his grasp as you run towards the voice.
There’s a young man lying against a car, a snarling zombie snapping its jaws at his face. The young man is holding it back with his gloved hands, but he’s quickly losing purchase. There’s a gun a few feet away from him; he must have been caught unawares.
Before you can think, you dart towards the zombie and angle your knife through its neck and into its brain. The zombie howls; the noise isn’t good. It could attract more of them– but then the zombie’s voice cuts off abruptly. It totters and slumps over, and then you see why: the young man has somehow shoved a knife within the zombie’s mouth.
“Fuck,” the young man mutters. He’s still slumped over on the ground.
You hold out your hand. “Are you okay?” you mumble.
The young man looks derisively at you, before slowly rising to his feet. “Yeah. I had it under control.”
“If you say so,” you say doubtfully.
“Hey, is everything okay?” By now, Childe has caught up with the two of you, his baseball clutched tightly in his hands. Teucer is trailing behind him.
“Yeah,” you say. “This guy was in some trouble, but it’s okay now.”
Childe kicks the body of the zombie, and you flinch at the weight of the sound. “Okay, great. Let's move on, then.”
“Wait.” You turn back to the young man. “Do you need any medical treatment? Did the zombie get to you in any way?”
“Are you asking me if I have a zombie bite?” the young man says contemptuously. “What would you do if I did? Going to stick your knife into my throat?”
“If they won’t, I will,” Childe says, his smile still pleasant. “They saved your life, so the least you can do is verify that you’re not a threat to us.”
“I just want to know if you’re okay,” you persist.
“I said I’m fine,” the young man says. “You know, do you want to draw the zombies to our location? Why don’t you both just shut up, and then we can all move on, hm?”
“We saved your life,” Childe says. “You don’t think you owe us for that?”
“They saved my life, not you,” the young man interjects. “And I don’t owe you anything for sticking your nose in my business.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” you suggest. Childe and the young man both look at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “I did save your life, and there’s safety in numbers. You’re heading north, too, right? To the government shelter? We could help each other out.”
“Don’t just assume my plans,” the young man mutters. His mouth puckers, as if he’s swallowed something sour. “Fine. If you’re so desperate for my assistance, I suppose I can accompany you for a while. We can call it even that way. But don’t expect any favors from me after that.”
You nod. “Okay. What’s your name?”
The young man eyes you distrustfully. “I suppose… you can call me Scaramouche.”
After introducing yourselves to Scaramouche, who makes sure to collect his gun, the four of you set off. Scaramouche lingers a bit behind your group. Childe, for his part, keeps a tight grip on Teucer’s hand, who keeps trying to look back at the stranger. Neither men look particularly happy.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Still, even if Scaramouche does become a threat, he’s easily outnumbered; he can’t risk using his gun without drawing in zombies with the sound. Besides, if you just left him to wander by himself after a zombie attack, you’d worry over him. This is for your own peace of mind.
The next town descends into view before sunset, a place whose name was lost when all its inhabitants fled. A town without people isn’t really a town at all. Crumbling buildings, deserted cars, broken windows and overflowing trash on the streets: every place looks the same now. This might as well have been the place you left this morning.
A few zombies prowl the streets. The four of you avoid main roads and storefronts, and it’s at this point that Scaramouche leads your little group. He must be familiar with the area, because it’s not long before you reach a residential district, and Scaramouche nods his head at a nondescript house, with intact windows and a sturdy door, which you go up to open.
The lock is stuck, but you strike at it with your knife until it loosens. The three of you step into what looks like someone’s living room: leather couches, bookcases, widescreen television. The books are dusty with disuse, game consoles lying lifeless on the ground.
You, Scaramouche, and Childe sweep the premises, but there’s no zombies– or other survivors– in the place. It makes sense; most people fled as soon as they could, when the weather was still favorable. You, Childe and Teucer are part of the stragglers, the last few people still on the road. Other survivors aren’t common to encounter anymore, and those that are left are quick to look at each other with suspicion and hostility, if not aggression.
Scaramouche’s reaction is normal, all things considered. To him, you’re probably the odd one out. The world has turned to shit. It takes some measure of courage, tenacity, cunning, or even selfishness to survive. You can’t fault anyone for what they do to live.
But still. You can’t imagine completely turning your back on other people. After all, you and Childe have been supporting each other all this time. Neither of you could have made it this far without each other.
“I’m taking a bedroom upstairs,” Scaramouche says abruptly. “Don’t bother me unless you need me.”
“Get some rest,” you say. You set your violin case carefully down onto the floor, but Scaramouche pauses to watch you as you do.
“What the hell is that?”
“My violin,” you say simply.
“Really?” he says, scowling. “A violin? Do you think this is a school field trip? Are you going to subdue the zombies through music?”
“We could also subdue the zombies by tying you up and throwing you to them as bait,” Childe says pleasantly, stepping in front of you so you’re hidden from Scaramouche’s view.
You can still see him, though, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes at Childe’s words. He must not be in the mood for a fight, because he disappears up the stairs without another word.
“Gov… north… natio… state of… gency… repeat…” Teucer is fiddling with his radio again, cross-legged on the living room, and the sound echoes in the small space. He coughs as he adjusts the antenna, wiping his running nose with the back of his sleeve.
“Are you sure you want him with us?” Childe says quietly, so that Teucer can’t overhear.
You lightly grasp his hand, and Childe curls his fingers around yours. “He could be helpful. We can at least stick with him for a few days.”
“Got it. We’ll do what you want to do. But if he ever tries to hurt you or Teucer, then I’m going to take care of him.”
The way Childe says it leaves you no doubt that he’ll make good on his threat the second he perceives Scaramouche has turned his back on your group. Even when you were younger, you always thought Childe was like a pack animal: friendly and warm to anyone in his inner circle, but unrelentingly distant to anyone outside of it.
You remember the zombie that had almost attacked you at the convenience store yesterday, and the way Childe hadn’t stopped hitting it, not even when it stopped moving.
Childe relishes violence in a way you can’t understand. He was quick to pick up a weapon the second the zombies started showing up, and hasn’t put it down since.
He’ll make good on his threat. You can read it in his eyes alone. Hopefully bringing Scaramouche along isn’t a mistake.
Over the next few days, as the four of you continue to travel north, you’re still trying to make sense of Scaramouche.
He has a sharp tongue, and he’s not sociable whatsoever, but he never ignores your questions, even if there’s a scathing reply on his tongue more often than not. He pulls his weight, finding his share of supplies and sharing them with the three of you. And more than that, he dispatches zombies with ease. Scaramouche moves as fast and merciless as Childe, smashing brains into the pavement and aiming bullets directly at undead hearts and spines that cause the corpses to crumple to the floor, his silencer muffling all sound.
Maybe you’re the odd one, because you can’t stop thinking about how these zombies used to be people, with hopes and dreams dashed before they knew what happened to them. Still, there’s no time for regret; you have to do what you can to protect the people you love.
Overall, it’s nice to have another person around to hunt for resources, to watch your back when you’re out, or to have someone back at your makeshift bases to help look after Teucer.
And, surprisingly, it’s Teucer who Scaramouche seems to get along with the most. He’ll listen to Teucer ramble on, and spend more time with him than either you or Childe.
“He’s a nice guy,” Teucer tells you simply, when you ask him about Scaramouche. “I don’t think he’s really that mean. Sometimes he looks a little lonely, though.”
One night, Teucer’s radio breaks, the voices sputtering to a stubborn halt. Neither you nor Childe have any experience with machines, and not even Teucer’s crestfallen look can will the two of you to bring it back to life.
“Maybe I should just hit it a few times,” Childe mutters, turning the machine over and over in his hands.
“Are you an idiot? Give that to me,” Scaramouche snarls, snatching the radio out of Childe’s grasp.
The three of you watch as Scaramouche doctors the radio, unscrewing the back and checking the wires. A second later, sound crackles through the machine, a faint voice mumbling words you can’t hear.
“These things wear out easily,” Scaramouche barks at Teucer. “Try to keep it from overheating.”
“Thank you!” Teucer throws his arms around Scaramouche, who keeps his arms dangling awkwardly in the air before patting Teucer once, his hand gently curling around his head. He seems familiar with children, and it makes you wonder if he has– or had– a little brother before.
“That was sweet of you,” you say to Scaramouche, when he passes by you and Childe. Teucer is adjusting the radio’s buttons again, trying to find any sort of signal.
“I didn’t do it for you,” he says, scoffing. “I would hate to see that brat crying, that’s all. It would attract the undead.”
“Sure,” Childe breaks in easily, smiling. “You’re big brother material, you know.”
“Shut up,” Scaramouche snarls.
Scaramouche is an enigma, but he’s an asset. It’s only when Childe quietly murmurs that he hasn’t noticed any signs of zombie bites or symptoms of infection on Scaramouche that you can bring yourself to trust in him a little more.
“I still think he’s bad news,” Childe tells you in a quiet voice, when Scaramouche is busy entertaining Teucer in the room over. Teucer’s laughter drifts through the wall. “There’s something off about him. The sooner we ditch him, the better.”
“Teucer likes him,” you say.
“Teucer is young.”
“Are you sure you’re not jealous of him?” you tease, elbowing Childe in the side.
He shakes his head. His eyes are distant, staring at somewhere far away from you, some place you can’t join him in. Childe has that look often these days, and it’s the same one he has whenever he sees a zombie and his hands flex on his baseball bat.
Maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe it’s always been a part of him. But it’s frightening, because he’s never been unreachable to you. If you just whisper his name, he’ll usually come running straight to your side. But when he gets like this, you wonder if your voice will reach him at all. You take his hand instinctively, as if to ground him back to your reality, and Childe squeezes your hand in return.
He’s here. He’s here, even if the rest of the world falls to ruin, and he’ll always take your hand.
“I just have a bad feeling,” Childe says.
“We’ll be careful,” you promise.
Childe closes his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Okay.”
Maybe he’s trying to ground himself with your touch, too, so the two of you stay in that position for a long while longer, where you simply soak in each other’s presence, lost in your own thoughts.
As you travel over the next few days, the temperature turns frigid and the ground icy, and the four of you stick to camping out in empty buildings. If you’re lucky, the houses might have an indoor fireplace to huddle around. If not, then you make do with thick, lonely, faded blankets forgotten in closets. If you can’t make it to town, there’s always cars to break into and huddle in for the night. It’s been easy to avoid zombies with the cooling weather; frost gathers in their joints, and they move more slowly. On cold enough nights, you can’t see any at all.
It’s in one of the countless abandoned homes you pass that the four of you stop by for the night. You’re huddled by a fire pit, blankets curled over your shoulders, having pushed the couches closer to the hearth to trap the heat. There are framed pictures over the mantelpiece, of a blond family: two daughters, one with a ponytail and another with pigtails, a mom, a dad. You wonder if they’re alive. Then you turn your head back to the fire, flames flickering in a slow dance, and makes it hard to think of anything else.
Teucer is asleep, his head on Childe’s lap. You’re curled up on Childe’s other side, shoulders touching. Scaramouche sits farther apart, his shoulders hunched, legs folded under him.
“Okay, spit it out. Are the two of you dating?” Scaramouche says suddenly.
“What?” you hiss.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? All the touching? And he–” Scaramouche jerks a thumb at Childe– “Keeps acting like the two of you will die if you’re apart for a single moment.”
“We’re not dating. We’re just friends,” you say defensively, even as Scaramouche raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known him since I was born, okay? We grew up next to each other.”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Oh, how sappy.”
“Are you interested in us?” you challenge, annoyed. “That’s a weird thing to bring up all of a sudden.”
Scaramouche lets out a short barking laugh. “Hardly! You two were just so annoying to watch. I needed to know for sure.”
“Well, now you know,” you say tersely. “We went to the same school all our lives. Our families were friends. But we’re not dating.”
Teucer lets out a series of coughs, stirring in his sleep. His coughing has gotten worse over the last few days. If it doesn’t get better, you’ll need to stop and look for medicine. All of you freeze, and Childe strokes Teucer’s head softly.
“You guys can talk, but try to keep it down,” Childe says. Under the shelter of your blanket, hidden from Scaramouche’s gaze, his pinky grazes yours. You link them together. There’s something intimate about the gesture. Maybe it’s because you’re doing it in secret, right under Scaramouche’s nose.
Scaramouche stares into the fire, unblinking, his gaze reflecting the flames. “So you’ve known him your whole life.” His voice is quieter now, and you try to match his low tone.
“We went to different colleges, though,” you say. “I was majoring in musical performance. Childe and Teucer were visiting me during spring break at my apartment when…” Your voice trails off. There’s no reason to look back to the past. It’ll kill you. It’ll kill you if you stop moving forward, if you think about the family you’ve lost, the stage you can never return to.
“Yeah, we were visiting them when the apocalypse broke loose,” Childe interrupts easily, continuing for you. “We waited a while before fleeing, and we’ve been traveling ever since we heard about government shelters in the north.”
“And what if those communications are lies?” Scaramouche says. “And there’s nothing up there? Or what if it’s a trap?”
“Then we’ll make do,” Childe says. “We’ll survive.”
“It’s easier if we’re together,” you add.
Scaramouche scoffs. “Sure.”
“What about you?” you ask. “Where did you come from?”
“Nowhere,” he says tersely.
“Sure. You just popped out of the ground,” Childe says. “No family? No friends?”
“No one worth talking about,” he says. “Everyone is dead or gone.”
You nudge Childe’s hand with your own, signaling him to drop the issue, and Childe falls silent. There’s no point in pushing Scaramouche about things he doesn’t want to talk about. No one has a happy story these days.
Scaramouche’s eyes drift to your violin case, positioned snugly on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re still carrying that thing with you. You might as well use it for scrap wood,” Scaramouche says.
“I am not doing that! It’s important to me. I know it’s inconvenient, but I can’t just leave it behind.”
“That’s just sentimental drivel,” Scaramouche snarks.
“Maybe it is, but it’s my decision to live with, not yours,” you reply evenly.
“It’s nice to have a little music sometimes,” Childe breaks in. “Not that I know if you understand what it’s like to do things that make you happy. Do you do anything other than glower and scowl?”
“Shut up. You act just like their dog. You’re both hopeless.” Scaramouche stands, still clutching the blanket tightly around him. “I’ve had enough for tonight. Don’t bother me.”
When he stalks off, you lean your head on Childe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Childe.”
“That’s what family and friends are for,” he says lightly. “We look out for each other, especially now. I’m always here for you.”
You really don’t know what you would do without him. Scaramouche’s words stung, not the least because you used to have a crush on Childe when you were younger. Everyone has always teased you about how the two of you were going to wind up dating, but those childish ideas have no place in this dying world. Romance is an embarrassing indulgence, worse than your violin, and love doesn’t seem like the right word to describe what the two of you mean to each other.
It’s like there’s a string, knotted somewhere in the hollow of your heart, tying you to Childe. And everytime his heart beats, you can feel the tug of that string, a reminder of someone who’s more of you than you yourself are. If either of your hearts were to stop, then the string would snap, and the searing pain of that loss would kill you.
No, love isn’t the right word at all.
“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Childe whispers, and your eyes drift close. You can almost feel the ghost of lips brushing against your forehead, but you’re too sleepy to tell for sure.
The next day, Teucer wakes with a fever burning his skin and shortening his breath. You help Childe carry him to a spare bedroom and pile up the blankets against the chill, but it’s not enough. You melt ice and snow outside into water which Childe uses to dip rags into and cool Teucer’s forehead.
The two of you have been by his side for hours, trying to coax water and stale crackers into Teucer’s mouth, but he only turns away. At some point, Scaramouche has come to hover wordlessly by the door. There’s a tight, almost worried, expression on his face, but you don’t have time to pay attention to him and his shifting moods.
“The fever might still go down,” Childe mutters, but he’s talking more to himself than he is to you. “It’s not that bad yet.”
“We’ll need medicine,” you say. “I’ll go find some. You should stay here and look after him.”
“By yourself?” he says tersely.
“No, Scaramouche will come with me,” you say resolutely.
“I never agreed to do that,” Scaramouche says, the first words he’s said since he’s shown up.
Childe stands, grip tightening around the rag in his hands to the point his knuckles turn white. “I don’t have time for you right now. Teucer is sick, you asshole. You can either help us or keep your shitty opinions to yourself.” Scaramouche holds Childe’s gaze in one long, hard unblinking moment. You tense, wondering if you’re going to need to shove them apart.
Scaramouche is the first to duck his head. He glances at Teucer’s prone form, then glances away again, too fast for you to decipher the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll go. He needs the medicine. Besides, they–” he jerks a thumb at you– “Would probably die without someone to look after them.”
You bite back all your complaints at his tone. There’s no time for fighting, not when more important things are on the line. “Fine. Then we’re going to head out right now to look for supplies.”
The wait to grab your gear and trek outside is short and tense. The air is bitterly cold, causing your breath to cloud in the air as the two of you slink down sidewalks and alleyways, scanning for any sign of zombies. Snow and ice slick the ground, and the sky has a sickly gray pallor to it, like unhealthy skin.
The nearest grocery store is a half an hour walk away. In the silence, you’re acutely aware of Scaramouche next to you. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him since he started traveling with you. His steps are surprisingly elegant, his posture graceful. Something about him doesn’t strike you as a typical college student; maybe he was a dancer? It wouldn’t surprise you.
But Scaramouche’s past, which he clearly doesn’t want to share with you, isn’t important right now. What is important is Teucer.
The grocery store, once you arrive at it, is as dilapidated as all the others; they were some of the first places to be scavenged. This place reminds you a little of the one you had explored with Childe, almost two weeks before. You shrug off the thought and gesture to the left side of the store, pointing at yourself, and then the right side of the store, pointing at Scaramouche. He nods, and the two of you separate.
Your heart beats an anxious rhythm in your chest as you peer at the shelves, looking for the telltale glint of plastic bottles and wordy labels. You need basic fever medication, or, hell, you would even take an over the counter painkiller. Anything to relieve Teucer’s pain. Without a doctor or proper supplies, if anything were to happen to him… no. You don’t want to think about it.
You browse the shelves, stepping over fallen merchandise, dirty stuffed animals and books with their pages splayed open like ribs. Nothing. Maybe you would make your way to Scaramouche’s side of the story instead; you’re clearly in the entertainment section, and the medical supplies might be further off.
You round the corner, and run right into a man in a puffy winter coat. You stumble backwards, hands already reaching for your knife, when the man throws his hands up.
“Whoa, take it easy,” he murmurs.
Despite his words, you keep a hand firmly on the hilt of your knife. You’re close enough that if he makes any suspicious moves, you can easily threaten him or disarm him. The man must realize this, because he backs away a few short steps.
He has winter boots scruffy with snow, and days old stubble around his neck. His eyes are red and heavy with dark eyebags, his face drawn with exhaustion, and his hair is greasy. You probably don’t look any better.
“Who are you?” you ask.
“Just someone trying to survive,” he says lowly. “I could ask the same of you.”
“Well, it’s the same for me,” you murmur. You can’t sense any signs of aggression or hostility from him.
“I’m not a threat,” he says again. “Don’t be hasty, stranger. Please. There’s no need for violence. Look. I don’t have any weapons.” He waves his hands again, keeping them spread in front of him.
“How do I know that for sure?”
“Because I’m tired of fighting with every other person I’ve run into. I know the world is shit, but we don’t need to treat others so poorly,” he says, and there’s a creeping edge of genuinity to his voice.
You let out a little breath, then sheaf your knife. Still, it’s close enough that you can grab it if the man turns out to be dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
“Looking for supplies. Same as you, I presume?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. You’d be a fool just to trust him based on appearance and kind words alone, as much as you want to believe in his good intentions. It’s probably better not to clue him in on the most vulnerable member of your team.
“Are you by yourself?” the man asks. “Hey, so am I. If you want, we could–”
A soft click of the gun echoes in the air. Both of you tense. “Too bad for you, but they aren’t alone.” Scaramouche digs his gun against the back of the man’s head. His posture is loose, casual, even, as if the man in front of him isn’t trembling like a rabbit.
“What are you doing?” you hiss.
“Something you’re too stupid to do,” Scaramouche says disdainfully. “Really, I can’t believe you would lower your guard when there’s a threat in front of you.”
“He isn’t a threat!”
“He just wants you to let your guard down,” Scaramouche reasons. “You have no idea what he’s planning to do.”
“I wasn’t planning anything! I just thought– if they were alone, we could just team up– I didn’t have any other intentions!” the man insists, voice shaking. “I won’t do anything to you two, okay? I’ll leave the two of you alone. I promise. Just let me go.”
“And why should I trust that?”
“I’m just trying to survive! Come on, man. You know how it is these days.”
“I know exactly how it is these days,” Scaramouche says, and pushes his gun against the man’s head again.
“Scaramouche,” you say tensely. “Leave him alone.”
“Why? So he can turn around and betray us?”
“I won’t do that. I promise I’ll just go,” the man pleads. “If we see each other again, I won’t even talk to the two of you. Promise. Come on. Just cut me some slack.”
No one breathes. The moment stretches out, distorting before your eyes, stretching into an agonizing infinity. You might have always stood here, watching Scaramouche and this stranger, rooted to the spot, as civilizations rose and fell with a roar in your ears.
“Scaramouche,” you whisper, trying to plead with him again.
Scaramouche momentarily links eyes with you, his gaze as hard as his gun, and the man slowly reaches his hand down– towards his pocket? You can’t tell– you don’t know what he’s doing– and then – before you can say or do anything at all– Scaramouche’s trigger finger flicks and, in the next instant, the man is falling, blood spraying from his head in a wine-red arc, and it’s sickening how graceful the spill is, how the calm the man looks as his eyelids flutter and his mouth slackens, and Scaramouche is quietly slipping his gun back into the holster on his belt.
You couldn’t hear the sound of a gunshot at all. His silencer must have been on. And that’s the worst part, really, how easy it is. How quickly death passes, in seconds, like a butterfly alighting on a branch before flying away again.
This is the way the world is, and you want to cry or laugh or scream, but nothing comes out of your throat at all.
There’s blood. Warm and wet. Spreading in a pool by your feet. The man has fallen down, face first, and his wounds gapes open at you. You don’t even know his name.
Scaramouche crouches down by the man, digging into his coat pockets, before pulling out a switchblade. He flicks the blade out, his smile ghostly in the silver reflection.
“Knew it,” he whispers. “This fucker was reaching for this.”
The moment breaks, and you grab Scaramouche by his jacket, slamming him against a metal shelf. Your breath is heavy and fast, and you can feel the pounding of your own blood through your veins, resounding in your head, louder than thought. You can see the reflection of your own wild animal eyes in Scaramouche’s.
His eyes are dark and reflect nothing, not even his own thoughts, like a sheet of black glass you can only pound your hands against, over and over.
“What the fuck,” you spit out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” he drawls. “You should thank me.”
“He was innocent,” you say quietly. “You don’t know if he was reaching for his knife or not. He was just lowering his hands.”
“Really? Be honest with yourself,” Scaramouche says. “What else could he be reaching for?”
“Maybe he wasn’t reaching for anything at all. You don’t know that he was going to grab his knife. You had a gun to his head!”
“People do desperate things in desperate situations. You’re naive,” he says, spitting out the word like a curse.
“And you’re a bitter asshole.”
You could tear his throat out right now. You could slam his head against the wall until it bleeds. You could do anything to Scaramouche right now, but it wouldn’t matter. A stranger is dead, and you will never know what he was really doing in his final moments.
For the first time, you understand what Childe feels when he raises his weapon against a zombie.
“Are you going to threaten me all day? Don’t you have more important things to worry about?” Scaramouche says.
Scaramouche is worse than any undead threat. Childe is right. Bringing him along is a mistake. But no matter how you feel, there’s more pressing matters at hand. You clamber off of him, and he dusts down his winter jacket, before throwing something at you.
You catch it with ease. It’s a bottle of fever medication for children, orange pills encased in thick plastic, happy fruit shaped mascots dancing in front of the packaging.
“I found that. So let’s go back. The noise might have drawn zombies near us,” Scaramouche says.
Before you leave, you manage to cover the corpse with a ratty white blanket that you found shoved in the corner of the grocery store. It’s not much, and you can’t give him a real burial, but the idea of leaving his open body to the air feels wrong.
The silence is suffocating on your way home. Neither you nor Scaramouche speak much to each other. There’s nothing to say.
Back in the house, Childe is still crouched over Teucer’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand and speaking soothingly to him. He probably hasn’t moved since you stepped out of the house. You don’t know where Scaramouche went when you both returned. You don’t want to know.
“You’re back. Are you okay?” Childe asks.
He knows something is wrong without you saying anything, like some sixth sense or an animal’s intuition. When you sit next to him on Teucer’s bed, he lifts a hand to cup your face. He scans you carefully, as if looking for any sign of visible wounds.
“Childe. If there was someone who we didn’t know was a threat or not, what would you do?” you whisper.
“Easy. I would do what you wanted to do,” Childe says cheerfully. “And you’d probably want to help them.”
“But what if I was wrong?” you press. “What if I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and then you and Teucer got hurt because of it? Would it be wrong of me to have done that? Should I just have left them alone?”
“I don’t know,” Childe says. He’s stroking soothing patterns on your cheek now, his fingers dancing across your skin. “We wouldn’t know they’re dangerous until they betray us, right? And it would be their fault for betraying you, not yours for trusting them. Besides, if anyone hurt you, I would just kill them.”
“Is it really that easy?” you ask. Killing others, being killed. Trusting others, distrusting them.
Childe shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be? We take care of each other, right? If you mess up, I’ll cover you. And if I mess up, you’ll do the same. Why? Did Scaramouche say something to you? Want me to punch him?”
You let out a shaky little laugh. “Sort of. Something happened, but I can’t… talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later.”
Childe lets go of your cheek, and before you can react, softly kisses your forehead. His lips are dry and cracked, but what surprises you most is how gentle that single touch is, how cognizant he is of every inch of you. He handles you like you’re more precious than gold, more rare than diamonds.
“I’ll watch over Teucer, so get some rest. Thanks for getting the medicine for me.”
“I’ll take over in a little bit,” you say.
Childe waves a hand in return, and you stumble down the halls. You touch your forehead, where the kiss burns, marking you forever in some intangible way.
Maybe Childe is your salvation, as much as you’re his. You believe in him more than any god out there, anyways, and if you are to pray, it would be to him. Childe is the only one who will answer your prayers.
By the next morning, the medicine has reduced Teucer’s fever somewhat, but there’s still no point in traveling when he’s too sick to move. For the next two days, all of you are stuck in that house. You and Childe take shifts watching over Teucer. You don’t know where Scaramouche is; he hasn’t shown his face in a while.
In fact, you’re starting to wonder if he’s left permanently. You’re absently polishing your violin in the living room on a slow afternoon, when Scaramouche walks right through the doorway. He’s wearing a backpack, his jacket buttoned tightly to his throat.
“Do you still plan on bringing that thing with you?” he says.
“Yes. There’s no reason not to. Besides,” you add, “It’s not your business what I decide to bring with me or not. It doesn’t affect you.”
“It’s going to weigh you down,” he says.
“No more than anything else I bring with me,” you say evenly. “It was my dream, you know? To play at a concert hall. To become a famous musician.”
“You’re foolish.”
“What’s your problem?” you ask. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to come with us. We can go our separate ways. There’s no reason for you to stick with us anymore.”
“You want to know why? It’s because I knew someone who was just like you. A foolish idiot, who was abandoned by his mother, and then fell into a group of people who he thought he could trust. He thought he could trust them because they saved him, because they were kind and believed in the goodness of others. There was a little kid with them, too, who that boy really cared about. But then they all ended up dying because they trusted the wrong person, and that idiot was left all alone. That’s why I can’t stand you. I can’t stand anyone like him,” he spits out.
“But it isn’t the boy’s fault for trusting the others,” you argue. “It’s terrible that all of that happened to him, but the one who betrayed him is really at fault.”
Scaramouche laughed. “Well, that’s just the way the world is, and it’s semantics to argue otherwise. The stupid boy shouldn’t have trusted anyone in the first place, and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. It’ll be best if you learn that before long, instead of clinging to your stupid dreams. Everyone will leave you eventually, you know.”
Something about his phrasing prickles in your mind. Scaramouche, you notice, is wearing boots indoors. He usually takes off his shoes before entering rooms.
Something clicks in his hand. It’s his gun. The silencer is off. For a single moment, you hold your breath, wondering if Scaramouche is going to shoot you in cold blood, right here and right now, and you’ll end up like the stranger in the grocery store.
But no– he doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he heads towards the front door. You don’t even close your violin case as you follow him.
Unease weighs down every step. “What do you mean? Scaramouche? What are you doing with that?”
He doesn’t bother replying before he opens the door, a gust of cold winter air swirling around you. The night sky is bitterly black and cold, like the bottom of the ocean. “You know, I always hated your fucking attitude. Oh, the world is a good place! Oh, you can trust others! Oh, Childe is always going to help me out!” he says, but there’s something gentle about the cruelty in his voice. Like he’s really doing you a favor. “Someone has to put you in your place.”
“Scaramouche–” Your words are cut off as he raises his gun and fires it into the sky. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound richots off the houses around you and into the depths of the neighborhood, like the toll of a church bell.
And then– groaning. Faint groaning and shuffling, carrying over the wind. In the distance, darkened shapes lurch toward your door, lumpy shadows that are too numerous to count. Congregants, summoned by Scaramouche’s call.
Scaramouche has summoned a zombie hoard to your location. The knowledge hits you just as Scaramouche leaps out the door, giving you one last smile. There’s something bitter curling along his grin, but you don’t have time to interpret the meaning before he waves his gun in a single farwell.
“Good luck,” he says mockingly, and vanishes into the night.
You slam the door closed, heart pounding. Oh god. What are you going to do? The backyard– that’s your best option. You can escape out the back. But, shit. Teucer. Teucer is still recovering. You can’t move quickly with him still sick- and the cold weather could make him worse.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone pounds down the stairs. Childe is by your side in an instant, grabbing your shoulders.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes are wild, and his fingers cut into your shoulders. “Where’s Scaramouche?”
“He left,” you say numbly. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. It’s just–” Something slams against the door, a wet thud that echoes into your bones. Multiple bodies are beating against the door, and Childe peeks through the peephole. He glances away, his hand around his mouth, and you look, too: it’s an endless sea of corpses. Scaramouche must have summoned the entire town to your door.
“Fuck. Did he do that?” he whispers. There’s an odd edge of elation to his tone, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right in your current circumstances.
“Yes,” you say, and Childe takes your hand, pulling you along, up the stairs.
“Focus!” he hisses, grabbing onto your face, pulling your gaze up to him. In this moment, the only thing you can focus on is Childe’s eyes, pure and open, like the endless expanse of the sky. “I know he did something shitty, but focus! We have to survive. We have to make a way through this. Okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper.
“I’m here. I’m here for you.”
“You’re here,” you repeat, and Childe lets you go. You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. There’s no time to regret, to mourn, to scream. There’s no choice but to keep moving.
For the next few moments, you and Childe pack two backpacks, shoving them full of whatever supplies you can carry.
You head into Teucer’s bedroom next, where he stirs weakly. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.
“Emergency. We have to go now,” Childe says lightly. Teucer holds out his arms obediently as Childe helps him into his jacket, tenderly shoving a hat on his head, tucking it around his curls of hair.
“Can you walk?” you ask Teucer.
“A little.” His speech is still slurred with fatigue and illness. He’s in no condition to move, but you have no choice.
“I’ll carry you if you get tired,” you say. “Childe and I can take turns.”
He nods, and Childe picks him up. Teucer curls his head into Childe’s shoulder. You grab his radio off the bed stand, and Teucer grips it tightly, close to his chest like a heart.
“You need to put on your jacket, too,” you whisper to Childe. “What, are you going to run out like that?”
Childe smiles. “Not at all.” He guides the two of you to the backyard door. For now, the immediate vicinity is free of zombies: yellowed grass, a barren tree with skeletal arms piercing the sky, a wooden gate with a fragile latch at the very end. In the darkness, you can’t make out anything beyond the fence. It’s better that way, because you know all you see will be zombies piled everywhere.
Childe helps Teucer pull on his backpack, and you slip on your own.
“Not bringing your violin?” Childe asks quietly.
“There’s no room for it,” you say bitterly. Scaramouche is right about that, at least. It’ll just slow you down at this rate.
Childe sets Teucer down at your words, carefully pulling out a chair for Teucer to lean against. “Wait for us for a little bit, buddy. We’ll be right back.”
Teucer nods absently, and slumps on the chair. He’s playing with his radio again, the static crackling through the air.
Childe guides you to the living room, where your violin case is still open on the floor. He bends over and picks up the rosin, running one thumb over the closed plastic cap, before handing it to you. “I’ll bring you your violin later,” he says. “So just take this with you for now.”
“Childe. What do you mean? You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”
Ever since you were young, Childe has been unable to lie to you. You know him too well for that, and you grab his elbows at the look in his contemplative look in his eyes. He must know better than to try now, because he only smiles at you. His smile is– it’s excited, almost, as it has been since he first saw the zombies around the house. You want to throw your rosin at his fucking face.
“There are too many zombies around the house right now. Someone needs to be a distraction so the others can get away.”
“But it doesn’t have to be you!” you say desperately. “I can stay, too. I can help you. Isn’t this how we’ve always done this? You and me. We can do this together.”
“Someone has to take care of Teucer. I can’t risk him,” he says quietly.
“God damn it!” Tears are streaming down your face, and you can’t even wipe them away.
For a second, you imagine leaving Teucer behind. You’ll drag Childe with you, and just the two of you can leave. Childe has to survive. He has to. He’s the only one in this world you care about anymore.
But Childe would never forgive you if you do. And you would never forgive yourself. How can you think like that? Teucer is a child. You were there when he was born.
Childe presses his thumb to your face, catching your tears. “I’ll catch up to you guys. I won’t die.”
“You don’t know that! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just leave us like this!” You hold out your hand to him, hoping that he’ll take it, but Childe only looks at it quietly. He doesn’t move to take it. It’s a rejection, your first rejection from Childe.
“I’m not like Scaramouche. I’ll come back to you. I won’t betray you like that. Trust me,” he says. “I’m going to keep both of you safe.”
He kisses you. He kisses you, and all your bubbling complaints are swallowed by his lips. Your hands are trapped against his chest. He kisses you once, and twice, over and over, like he’ll die if he pulls away. Your kisses are salty with your tears. Childe licks your bottom lip, and you finally shove yourself away from him, because you’ll drown in his arms otherwise.
“You promised,” you whisper. “So you better keep it, or I’m going to come back and kill you myself.”
“I’ll always come back to you,” Childe says. “It’s you and me, right?”
You walk back to the dining room, where Teucer is sitting sleepily. Childe has his baseball bat in hand. He kisses his brother’s forehead once.
“Be good, Teuce,” Childe murmurs.
“Where are you going?”
“I have some business to take care of. But I’ll catch up to you soon.” And then, in a low whisper, tha only you can hear, “don’t look back,” he says.
You finger the rosin in your pocket. “I won’t.”
You head out in the backyard, Teucer’s hand in your own, the night air so cold it sears your lungs. You can hear the shuffle of zombies through the fence, too numerous to count.
You and Childe stare at each other through the glass door for one final time, and then he’s gone, running towards the front door. You head towards the gate, heart hammering in your ears as you listen to the shuffle of zombies. You’ll wait until the noise dies down enough to make a break for it, when he’s drawn most of the attention to himself.
A minute passes. Another. The zombies are slowly lurching past you. There’s noise from the front of the house, but you don’t want to think about what’s going on there.
When it’s finally silent enough, you burst out into the street, Teucer’s hand in your own. The two of you run, and run, and run.
You don’t know how long you run. At some point, Teucer falters, and you sling both your bags to your front, and pull him onto your back, and keep going, his arms tight around your neck. His forehead burns against your neck. His fever must be flaring up again.
“My brother…” Teucer whispers reedily in your ear.
“He’s right behind us,” you lie, tears burning your throat and choking your words. “I promise.”
You keep running. You keep running, even when your legs are screaming and your lungs are burning and your breathing is uneven. You keep running until you can’t feel anything anymore, not the ache of your arms or Teucer’s weight on your back. In the endless darkness, you keep going, because if you stop now, then you’ll turn right around and go back to Childe and render his sacrifice meaningless.
Is this your fault? Should you have never trusted Scaramouche and just left him there to fend for himself when you first saw on the highway? Maybe you should have stuck your knife in his ribs yourself the second he pressed his gun to a stranger’s head.
Childe might be dead already. He could be dying right now. But, no, Childe has promised to come after you. He never breaks his promises. He’s always there for you. And now you’ve left him behind, in a zombie swarm.
You remember his smile, too, the way he never hesitates to beat against zombies until they’re pulp on the ground. As much as he loves you and Teucer, he loves the violence of a dying world, too. Does he fight because he wants to protect you, or does protecting you give him an excuse to fight?
Resentment bubbles in your chest, trickling along with your tears. How can he ask you to leave him behind? How can he look excited at the thought of going single handedly against a swarm of zombies?
You can never ask him now.
The world is a cruel place. Your family is dead. Or worse, they’re alive but you’ve abandoned the aunt and uncle who raised you to their fate, without even heading back to your hometown to check if they were still alive. Childe, at least, had the decency to want to go home until it was too late to go anywhere but north. You just wanted to run.
You should have smashed your fucking violin into pieces when you had the chance, instead of carrying it with you all this way. There’s no concert halls left, no audience, no one who cares about your dead dreams.
Something crackles in your ear. Teucer’s radio, turned so low only you can hear. “Gov… north… repeat… state of emergency… shelter…”
Keep going.
But why are you going? What’s left for you?
Keep running.
But what if there’s nothing left? What if everyone is dead, and there’s no one up north to help you?
Keep moving forward.
It’s snowing. You don’t know when it started, but snow clings to your lashes like frozen tears. You stumble over something hard, and you crash into the ground, skidding along the icy dirt. You keep a tight grip on Teucer the whole time, and his radio goes silent as it shatters on the floor, into cold metal stars.
“Teucer?” you whisper, but all you can hear is his labored breathing. If he stays in the cold for any longer, he might really die.
Maybe you should just stay here and die with him. You’re too tired to move. The cold is numbing your joints, seeping into your body. You’ve run for so long. You can’t run any more.
“Look,” Teucer whispers in your ear, and you force your eyes up.
In the distance, a bright light glimmers, a firefly in the winter. A fire, or a flashlight. You can’t tell, but you do know what it means. Other people. You’ve found other people. But there’s no guarantee they’ll help you. Maybe they’ll rob you, leave you for dead in the snow. How can you trust anyone else now?
Scaramouche has betrayed you. Childe is… no, Childe isn’t dead. He’s promised you. He’ll come back for you. If you die here, then you can’t wait for him. If he comes to find you, and you’re not there, then you’ll have betrayed him in the worst way.
Childe can hurt and betray you all he wants, but you can’t hurt him.
And Teucer. Teucer is right here, on your back, still clinging with his fragile arms. Still believing in you to keep him safe.
Your rosin is in your pocket. You force a gloved hand into your jacket pocket to feel its worn edges. You’ve used the same one for years, to coat your bow so it can glide over your violin strings, wearing it down to almost a sliver.
You take a breath. Then another. And then you get up, and you head towards the light.
#liya writes#genshin impact#childe#childe x reader#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#x reader#genshin impact x reader#childe genshin impact#tartaglia genshin impact
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This Cozy House (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: You and Bob spend a chilly fall evening goofing around with the babies
It was absolutely freezing out, more so than it had been since last year despite it being only early October. It was already dark out in early evening, the sun having set around five-thirty in the evening while dinner was left to slow cook in the crockpot, but the house was as brightly lit and cozy as ever.
Auggie and Patrick's squealing giggles soon reached your ears as Bob tickled them, the three laughing up a storm in the living room. You laughed just as they did, your hands trailing to your bump as your baby girl kept rolling over.
A sudden noise made you jump a little along with Bob's stern warning to your son. "August Robert," he chided. "If you're gonna rough-house, take your glasses off."
"Ok Daddy," he chirped, quickly removing his glasses and setting them down on the endtable.
You pulled the grainy loaf of bread out of the oven and put it on the back of the stove, cutting it with great ease and putting it on the plate. The rain battering the roof was growing louder and louder, rattling the pipes that held up the stove vents whole a menacing roll of thunder was heard outside.
"Storm's rollin in (y/n)?" Bob asked as Patrick rolled onto one of the couch cushions on the floor.
"They said it was gonna get bad in a few hours," you told him, bringing the bread to the table. "Not sure how these two are gonna sleep tonight."
Bob nodded in agreement. Storms in California had been nothing compared to those in Montana where you were currently living. All summer long, you and Bob had not only worried about tornadoes but the wildfires which tended to spark up close to towns and cities. Luckily for you, Bob and his family had worked with a local hotshot team to create a burn line so that the ranch would survive.
"C'mon Patrick, roll to Daddy," Bob encouraged.
Patrick squealed and giggled as he somersaulted off the couch and into his father's arms. It always ended the same with Bob putting him back on the couch and having him roll right off, over and over again until finally the timer on the crockpot went off.
"Auggie, grab your glasses, then come eat."
"Ok."
You and Bob were soon seated at the table with Auggie and Patrick, the four of you just having said grace before dinner was passed around, hot pieces of bone-in fried chicken, white-cheddar mac n cheese with toasted breadcrumbs, green beans and the grainy crust of bread that had smelled so good warming in the oven.
Everyone ate their fill and talked about their day and all that had come about. "Oh," Bob said suddenly. "Sweet cheeks, before I forget, I've got next week off so I can go and get the boys from school."
"Does Luanne know?"
"She knows," Bob assured you. "Dad helped her and Magnus fix their windows last week since he had his rotator-cuff surgery. He told her I was gonna pick the boys up as soon as they were done on their nature walks."
Excellent....you thought. One less thing to worry about......
As soon as the boys had finished, you and Bob took care of the dishes and the leftovers, putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and putting the leftover food into clean plastic containers to store in the fridge for tomorrow's lunch.
"You want me to take care of baths tonight?" you asked Bob.
"Absolutely not," Bob insisted. "You're eight months pregnant and I don't want you having to hurt yourself."
"Bob, c'mon, we've been through this twice already," you chuckled.
"Which is exactly why I don't want you to hurt yourself," Bob informed you.
"I'm just teasing," you told him.
You leaned into his embrace, happy and content as ever in his arms as he lovingly kissed you, his hand resting on your bump when he felt the tiny little feet of your daughter against his palm.
"You get some sleep my sweet little pea," he mumbled as he stooped to one knee to kiss your belly. "I have a feeling you're gonna be trouble like your brothers."
You laughed a little bit before Bob told you to go and settle in and to get the Friday night movie ready. It was an odd choice of Auggie and Patrick's, but they were beginning to really love Disney's "Fantasia", one that Bob had grown up watching. Even if neither of them understood it, they loved the images that matched up with the music.
Bob quickly gave them their baths and stuck them both in their warm little pjs just in case they fell asleep during the movie. Auggie had run to his room to go and grab his little Dumbo stuffie off his bed while Patrick waddled out with his little brownie bear in its soft knit sweater that you and Bob's mother had both worked on when Patrick had been born.
You and Bob pulled out the couch bed and piled it with blankets, pillows and anything else to keep warm, snuggling in with your boys between you, your family dog jumping up to warm your feet and the movie playing on the tv screen in the living room. You and Bob couldn't have been more content than at that very moment, with both your boys between you, all snuggled under the warm quilts and blankets as the storm passed you by outside. Yet here you remained, unaffected by the rain battering the windows and safe in each other's arms, just as you knew, you always would be
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Comfort food Simon Riley x gn reader
I've had some trouble with my anxiety lately and just want someone to say it's okay and make me some food for comfort, and right now I can best picture Simon doing that. He's probably really occ and this is my first fic. I tried to make it gender neutral, reader and Simon are in a relationship. Constructive criticism is appreciated
Reader struggles with anxiety and has trouble relaxing, Simon helps by making them tea and food
You can't stop thinking about it. You know you're fine and everything's okay, but you just can't let it go. Every day lately has had you anxious and it's starting to get to your breaking point, you just want to relax and have some hot food like Mac and cheese or stir fry with rice or anything sounds good at this point, just to be able to relax with a cup of tea and hot food, and Simon can't make you feel better since he left for the gym before you got up this morning and you don't want to bother him anyway, he always say to come tell him when you're feeling like this but he only came back from a mission 5 days ago and you'd like for him to be able to relax and get baco to normal life. Has he caught on that you've been anxious lately, of course he has, Simon can read you like a book. Besides he made you lay down with him and watch a movie last night and he kept glancing at you probably waiting for you to relax, but that reminds you, you promised your friends that you would go to their house for a movie night tomorrow and that they want you to meet their new spouse.
Think about that and getting more anxious you hear the door open, and your thoughts pause, if Simon's home you need to snap out of it, he doesn't need to find you like this. So you stand up and walk into the kitchen and find Simon refilling his water bottle, and there's a bag on the kitchen counter. Standing there stiffly you realize it's time to speak so you clear your throat to try to get rid of the tightness, it didn't work but was worth a shot. While trying to sound normal you speak.
" Hey hun, you went shopping?". Simon doesn't look at you yet but finishes filling his water, " Not really, just stopped by the store to get you some loaf cake, some garlic bread tonight's dinner and that cheese you like." Still trying to appear fine you move to put the bread away, and when Simon moves to put the cheese in the fridge he stops and looks at you, when you turn back around you notice him looking at you very intently almost like he's trying to read your mind.
After a minute you speak up " You okay?", and he's still staring. " Are you?" he replied, "You're the one staring"," You look tense, nervous, are you okay?". Fuck, you thought he wouldn't notice and you could leave the kitchen and go back to the bedroom before he said something so you could be alone with your thoughts. Do I say anything or just brush him off, could I brush it off I mean he knows something up and he probably wouldn't believe even if I did say I was fine but if I told him how would he react. Irritated that he has to hear my anxiety, he just got back from the gym so he's probably tired, could i leave and just not say anything. While thinking to yourself you eventually realize that now you're staring at him blankly. " I'm fine"
" Why don't I believe that, do you want to talk about something?" "......No." " Do you want anything?" ".... No". But for some funny coincidence your stomach rumbles loud right after you say no. While Simon hears that he starts moving around, gathering things; a pot, a mug, a pan, noodles and spices.
"What are you doing?" "Making you food and tea, you've been off for the last couple days and probably haven't eaten since you woke up, at least nothing of value, sit down at the counter." Simon's reply caught you off guard for a second but then you quickly sat down at a stool, you watch him start to cook, filling the pot and getting the garlic bread he said you both would have for dinner and feel like apologizing, he just got home and this is what you make him do, " I sorry". He glanced back for a quick second before putting the noodles in the pot "For what?"
"Making you cook and use the garlic bread you wanted for dinner" He scoffs amused "You didn't make me do anything, I'm just trying to help" he puts a teabag in the mug with water and puts it in the microwave" also we'll order something tonight to eat, anything you want." You both sit in a comfortable silence until the food is done, then he carries the plates full of pesto noodles and garlic bread to the couch while you carry your mug. When he settles he pulls you into his side and puts on your favorite movie while you start to feel a little better. The anxious feeling isn't gone but quiet for now.
If you read the whole thing thank you but I'm sorry it isn't better, I really appreciate constructive criticism if you have any you would like to say, I realize that my writing is probably very dry but it will hopefully get better.
#Ghost x reader#cod x reader#x reader#call of duty x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#x gn reader#simon ghost riley x you
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Nothing Stays the Same Forever: Chapter 3
previous
She heard Maria laughing at something when she walked into their house the following evening. There hadn’t been much waiting for her to work on even after staying home the previous day, but she ended up consumed with a complex pattern for the quilt she would sew for Baby Miller. So she felt like a poor guest when she didn’t have time to make anything to contribute to the dinner.
“Is that you Y/N?” Her friend called from the kitchen. “We’re all back here.” She slipped off her coat and hung it up by the front door and went to greet them.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bring anything tonight.” She said awkwardly. Maria just pulled her into a quick hug.
“Don’t worry about it, just happy to have you here.” Tommy threw an arm around her shoulders and handed her a glass with what looked like whiskey in it.
“You will have to make one of your pies for next time though, I’ve been singing their praises to Joel since he got here.”
“Oh!” She felt the tips of her ears get hot. “I guess we just have to see what’s in season, but I can do that.” She took a swallow of the amber liquid and hoped the alcohol would give her a little more courage. With the pleasant warmth in her belly she finally looked over at Joel and was startled to find him already watching her. Despite herself, she found it nearly impossible to turn away from those deep, dark eyes of his. He sipped at his own glass, still staring her down.
“No Ellie tonight?” Y/N asked, realizing the girl was nowhere to be seen.
“Apparently we’re all old and boring,” Maria told her. “But she did seem to enjoy her visit yesterday.”
“It was nice of her to stop in. I told her she’s welcome any time.”
“Finally broadening your social horizons? I’m glad I sent her over there.” Maria opened the oven and judged the roasted chicken to be finished cooking, pulling it to rest on the counter.
“Should tell Ellie to feel honored, Joel. Y/N doesn’t invite anyone over.” Tommy clapped his brother on the back and poured another splash into his glass. “She’s a shy little violet.”
“She thought I was afraid of her…” Y/N mumbled. “I just wanted her to feel welcome, that’s all.”
“If Ellie wears out her welcome just boot her out the door.” Joel told her. “Girl will talk your damn ear off.” She swallowed down the rest of her whiskey.
“I really don’t mind her company. It might be nice to have some more visitors.” Tommy laughed and nudged Joel with his elbow.
“That sure sounds like an invitation to me, big brother. If you don’t take this pretty lady up on that I’ll disown you.” Y/N felt her face go from hot to cold and back to burning up.
“I d-didn’t mean to suggest…” She stuttered.
“Tommy, stop picking on the poor girl.” Maria punched her husband’s arm lightly. Joel threw back the last of his own drink. Y/N watched his throat constrict as he swallowed.
“Might not be a bad idea to check out your place if Ellie’s gonna be spending time there.” He said. “Make sure you’re a good influence.” Y/N wrung her hands together in a self soothing gesture, wishing she was any good at these types of interactions. Was Joel being serious? Was he teasing her like Tommy liked to? Or, and she highly doubted the last option, could he possibly be flirting?
“You’re welcome any time too, Joel.” She finally said. Desperate to get the attention off of herself, she cleared her throat and glanced over at Maria. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”
“Not a thing,” she replied. “All that’s left to do is sit and eat. We have a fresh loaf of bread and I opened a jar of green beans from last summer’s harvest to go with the chicken. Do you want another drink?” Maria asked over her shoulder as she carved the chicken. “Or I think there’s some iced tea in the fridge.” She was worried more alcohol would loosen her tongue far too much.
“Tea sounds great, can I get you some too?”
“Just water for me, I have to be careful with the caffeine.” Y/N busied herself with the task, grateful for something to do with her hands. Tommy made himself useful and set the table and Joel stepped in to carry the food so Maria didn’t have to. Bracing herself, Y/N turned to sit down and realized with a jolt that she would be sitting next to the brooding man.
“Here you are,” she croaked out. “Everything looks delicious as always, Maria.” She took her seat and tried not to be so aware of the presence beside her. When he passed her the basket with the bread, their hands brushed and it took all her self control to not leap out of her skin. “Thank you.” She whispered, meeting his eyes once again. Joel nodded and for a few seconds she swore the corners of his mouth turned up.
The rest of the meal went by in a blur. Tommy seemed to be in a chatty mood. Maria kept giving her pointed looks that only deepened Y/N’s confusion. She wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist on a good day around people she knew, and Joel didn’t seem to be much of a talker either. The whole situation had her stomach doing somersaults, so she mostly picked at the food on her plate. She spent the time looking down at her fork so she missed the look Tommy and Maria shared.
“Y/N used to work in a bridal boutique.” Maria blurted out, and she looked up in alarm. “Didn’t your Grandma teach you how to sew?” Those dark, searching eyes landed on her again. Y/N could hear her pulse rush in her ears.
“Um, yeah. When I was little.” Maria nudged her leg with her foot. “We found an American Girl doll at a church rummage sale and all she had was a little pair of shoes. She taught me how to make clothes for her.” Joel made a quiet sound in his throat. Y/N swore she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“We all certainly benefit from her skills.” Was that a hint of frustration in Maria’s voice? “Our patch jobs were pretty rough before we found her.”
“You did what you could. I’m sure you all would have gotten along if I hadn’t ended up here.” She heard her friend sigh and it made her feel awful. What was she supposed to be doing? Y/N wasn’t the type of person that thrived under the attention of others.
“Joel was a contractor back then. You’re both pretty good with your hands.” She glanced over at him again and attempted a friendly smile.
“I bet that was satisfying, building things.” He slowly chewed a bite of food and swallowed.
“It was good work.” He finally replied. Maria rested her forehead against her hand.
“He was very good at what he did,” Tommy laughed. “Just too humble to brag about himself.”
“Kept me busy.”
“What was the most expensive dress you ever worked on, Y/N?” Maria asked. “It was by one of those really fancy designers.”
“It retailed for about twenty thousand. Lots of lace and beadwork.” She could almost feel the delicate fabric slip through her fingers. Luxury and decadence that would most likely never exist again. “We had to be really careful doing the alterations. I did a lot of work on the veil to make it match.”
“Lot of fuss and money for something that was only worn once.” Joel’s dismissive tone hurt Y/N more than she could have anticipated.
“Maybe it wasn’t as noble as building homes, but I really loved what I did. I found it very fulfilling.” She replied, more venom in her tone than she thought she was capable of. Her fist clenched around her fork. Joel looked surprised for a moment, and then sighed, his expression softening.
“I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend you. It really is a lost art these days.” He said gently. As quick as the fire had built up inside of her, Y/N felt it extinguish almost immediately with his apology.
“It’s fine, I guess I didn’t realize how much I miss it. I’m happy to be useful here, but sometimes I can’t help but wish I could work on something that’s only job is to look pretty.”
“Maybe one day you’ll get another chance.” Joel’s benevolent expression surprised her, she didn’t expect that the gruff man could appear soft in any way.
“Maybe.” Was all she respond with.
…
After their shared meal, she insisted that she clean up for Maria. It took less convincing than it normally would have, but as her pregnancy progressed, she found her energy levels depleting much faster. Y/N shooed her friend away to put her feet up and gathered all the dishes to wash. Joel appeared at her elbow with a towel, holding his hand out for one of the wet dinner plates. For a man so large and broad, he moved far too quietly.
“You startled me!” She said, a little breathlessly.
“Sorry. I thought I could help dry.”
“Thanks, that would help.” She handed him the dish and he carefully wiped the water from the plate before putting it back in the cupboard. The two worked in silence for several minutes.
“I really am sorry for being rude before.” He finally mumbled at her. “It’s hard to adjust my mindset being here after twenty years of survival mode.” She nodded and handed him a handful of silverware.
“I know what you mean, I spent most of the time in a FEDRA building in the QZ. It’s so different out there, outside the cities. And then coming to Jackson…It’s a huge culture shock.” She started to wipe down the countertops.
“You were FEDRA?” His body language went rigid.
“Hell no. I just worked in one of their buildings. Officially I was a janitor, but I was more of a glorified maid and step ‘n fetch.”
“Oh.”
“Those people are monsters.” She zoned out looking out the window over the sink. “I dreamed about escaping every single day.” She nearly lept out of her skin when Joel touched her forearm.
“I’m sorry. Again. I keep putting my foot in it tonight.” She stepped away and his hand fell back to his side.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had a shit go ‘round.” She shrugged.
“I feel like we’re off on the wrong foot.” She turned to him, trying not to tear the rag in her tense hands.
“Joel. It’s fine.” He looked a bit like a scolded child.
“Tommy really likes you. Maria too.”
“So you think that means you need to like me?” Y/N didn’t know when the backbone had grown, maybe after downing the whiskey earlier.
“No! I mean I do. I mean…I don’t know you that well yet but you seem like a nice person.” His brow furrowed and he looked annoyed. “I’m no good at this talking to people stuff.”
“I pretty much suck at it too.” She rinsed the rag out and wrung it dry. “Look, I know you didn’t mean to upset me. You seem like you mean well.” There wasn’t much about Joel that said “nice”, but Y/N knew bad and Joel wasn’t it. “I meant what I said before. You and Ellie are both welcome at mine any time. Don’t expect the merry homemaker treatment or anything, but I probably spend too much time alone and it might be nice to have some company.” Joel visibly relaxed a fraction.
“We appreciate it.”
With the kitchen cleaned up, Y/N shrugged her back into her coat and said her thank yous and goodbyes to Maria and Tommy.
“We’ll have to make this a regular thing, maybe convince Ellie to join us next time.” Maria said, hugging Y/N tightly.
“We’ll be older and probably even more boring then.” She replied, making Tommy laugh. “Get some sleep, you do too much.” She told the other woman.
“I gotta get it all done before I’m too big to do anything,” Maria replied with a grin. “This baby isn’t weighing me down just yet.” She looked over at her brother-in-law. “Joel, you’ll make sure she gets back to her house all right?”
“It’s just a little ways down the street…” She began.
“I’ll make sure of it.” He said, and held the front door open for her. With no choice but to go along, Y/N gave Tommy a quick hug and walked out in a huff. Joel mumbled out a goodnight and followed her.
Tommy wrapped Maria up in his arms and kissed her cheek.
“I never thought I’d meet someone as oblivious as my brother. You were about as subtle as a wrecking ball.” Maria laughed and settled against her husband.
“I’d just like to see the two of them not be so lonely. Especially her. She hasn’t told me anywhere near everything she went through…” Sometimes the haunted look on her friend’s face broke her heart. “They could be good for each other, even if it’s just a friendship.”
next
TAGLIST: @boofy1998 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi
#Joel Miller x reader#Joel x plussized!reader#Joel x reader#tlou fanfiction#reader insert#plus sized reader
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Boonies - 3- Locals
For the @deanobingo 2023 event!
Prompts: Will Johnson - "Oops"
Wanted - Will Johnson x female Reader
3985 words
Summary: Will accompanies you to the market and gets a taste of the locals. He opts out of another invite, but when you come home drunk he's left with more questions once again.
CW: Alcohol use, drunken behaviour, mention of pain, mention of prior injuries, mention of scars, mention of antibiotics and Tylenol, mention of desired sexual activities, discussion of unwanted sexual attention (not noncon/SA), suggestive physical contact and kissing (T rated, dubcon).
Prev parts: 1, 2
Will woke in the blue hour light of pre-sunrise, the smell of freshly baked bread the first thing he registered.
The market, right.
He remembered your comment about having an early morning and rubbed at his eyes, wondering how long you’d been up.
Stretching as he got out of the bed, he winced when his body reminded him of the leg injury he was supposed to be babying.
He wondered what the market setup would entail.
Probably nothing too strenuous.
The idea of sitting behind your table doing nothing already made him feel stir-crazy, but he had decided the night before that he wanted to go with you, if only to get off your property and clear his head a bit. He still wasn’t sure if what he’d seen was real, or if he was hallucinating problems now in addition to thinking of them constantly.
He cleaned up in the ensuite and got dressed, then wandered toward the kitchen in hopes of scoring a breakfast that tasted as good as the house currently smelled.
“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Will teased, though the groggy rasp of his voice turned what he’d meant as a playful greeting into a tired one.
You wrapped a cooled loaf of bread in cling film, smiling as you looked over your shoulder.
“Nothing at the moment. You hungry?”
Will grunted, walking over to lean against the counter near where you were standing. Various baked goods had been packaged up for sale.
“I don’t want to put you out. Seems you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, I was.” You smiled, satisfied with your own efforts.
“Oh, here-”
You moved to pull a plate closer, revealing three cinnamon rolls.
“I had one earlier, but these are for you. You don’t have to eat them right aw-”
Will took one off the plate before you could finish your sentence, brows raised and scruffy cheeks dimpled by his grin as he started ripping it apart.
“Chur.”
“Well, hold on, there’s frosting, too.” You stepped away to grab a bowl from the fridge that you placed on the counter for him. “I wasn’t sure if you liked yours heated up, or what…”
“Beauty.”
You watched as Will slathered a thick layer of frosting on his roll before continuing to pick it apart with his thick fingers. It wasn’t a refined way of eating by any means, but the rapturous look on his face forced you to forgive him any lack of manners.
Will thought to himself that he might get fat staying here, but he didn’t care if it meant eating like this.
The sun finally rose above the horizon, bathing the kitchen in a golden glow as it shone low through the windows.
Will looked up to see you looking outside in the direction he’d seen the figure the night before and swallowed.
“Do you get many trespassers?”
“What?”
“Well, you’re-” He gestured. “Out in the wops, don’t have the best fences. Get many people on your land?”
You let out a laugh.
“No, you’re the first squatter in my coop so far.”
“No theft, or- anything like that?”
“Nope.” You flashed him an easy grin.
“Safe as houses. So relax.”
Will’s brow furrowed, keeping eye contact.
“I know you checked the locks last night. But I promise, nobody’s out here but us and the hens.”
He hesitated, still unsure.
If he told you he thought he’d seen someone, that would either scare you or make you think he was crazy.
He forced a false laugh into his voice, turning his attention back to his food.
“Right.”
You watched him for a moment, wondering what had happened to make him so vigilant.
Possibly related to those scars…
You pictured his naked torso, the image of him ripping out your fence the day earlier still fresh in your mind. He was fit and strong despite his injury. You had no doubt he’d be capable of defending himself against most people. Then again, something had clearly torn through him in the past.
Must have been something bad.
--
Will leaned back in the folding camping chair you’d offered him, enjoying the fresh morning air as people milled about in the paved area being used for the farmer’s market. He was subtly watching the crowd, knowing rationally that nothing was likely to happen, and trying to appear relaxed.
It hadn’t taken long for you to set up your table, batting away Will’s attempts to help. You had done this the same way every Saturday for months now, and you had a system. You had even packed you both coffees in travel mugs to keep you warm.
You looked over to him, thinking he looked every bit like the rugged outdoorsman he was. You could see him sitting exactly like that, relaxed beside a campfire somewhere. As you looked over his strong frame, you wondered if the chair would support both of you if you decided to sit on his lap.
I bet he gets really worked up after a hunt; all that testosterone…
You forced yourself to look away, scanning the booths and noting all the familiar faces as you pushed the idea from your mind. Your life was here, in the boonies. His was in Dunedin.
Will sipped at his coffee, thinking idly that he looked forward to eating another cinnamon roll later.
You turned to him again, dropping your voice so nobody would hear.
“Thanks for coming, eh? It can get a bit boring sitting alone.”
“Nah, no worries.”
“Oh, but- feel free to look around, too.”
Will hummed, not really interested in the wares and trying to ignore the pain in his leg. He had taken the antibiotics, but no Tylenol that morning, and he was starting to regret it. Without work to distract him he was over-aware of the swelling and thrumming of his skin.
Maybe I overdid it yesterday.
Not that he’d ever admit it. He’d just be sure to take something when you got back.
Soon you were trading greetings with customers, selling them roughly the same things they bought every week, or at times trading wares with another vendor who you had arrangements with. Will kept quiet, but offered polite smiles to anyone who looked his way.
Eventually Pete walked over, his large frame making his presence somewhat overbearing.
“Mornin’ love.”
“Morning.”
He gave a nod to Will.
“You keeping off that leg?”
Will gestured at it from his seat.
“More or less.”
Pete’s gaze turned to you.
“And all’s well?”
You smiled.
“Mmhmm.”
Pete narrowed his eyes at Will.
“And you’re not giving her any trouble?”
“Pete-”
Will raised his hands defensively.
“It’s like staying at a bloody hotel. I told her not to fuss, but-”
“It’s no trouble,” you argued, slight irritation in your voice. “Just chill.”
Will snickered, shrugging at Pete as though to say ‘my hands are tied’.
Pete hummed, thinking the two of you were getting chummy, but saw to his business with you rather than pressing the issue.
“Busy day.”
He tucked the loaf of bread he’d bought into a tote bag and scratched at his cheek.
“Mac wants me to shave before the dance. Speaking of- Pick you up at the usual time tonight?”
“Tonight? I thought it wasn’t til the fifteenth?”
“Today is the fifteenth, love.”
You checked your phone to see the date displayed above the time.
“So it is.” You tucked some hair behind your ear, feeling embarrassed. “Where’s the month gone?”
“Well, I suppose when you have company, it can be a bit distracting,” he teased, raising a brow at Will to make it clear what he was implying he thought was going on between you.
“See you both tonight.”
He gave a pointed look to Will, then walked off before you could say anything to confirm or deny his implication.
You turned to Will and smiled.
“You should come with me. It’s always a hoot.”
He grinned at your phrasing.
A hoot.
“Once a month, everyone dresses up nice and we have a big dinner and dance.”
Will sucked in a breath, pretending to be disappointed.
“Aw, and here I didn’t pack my suit.”
You laughed.
“You don’t have to dress formally. We just do it for fun. You look great just as you are.”
Will chewed his lower lip, tearing his eyes away from you to try to think rationally.
He had an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the odd encounter the night before, or the idea of being in an unknown place full of strangers. He knew he’d spend the evening eyeing exits and sizing up every person who came within a hundred feet of him.
“Still, I think I’ll give it a miss, if it’s all the same.”
“Of course. Sorry! I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I just-”
He shook his head at your apology.
“All good. Not my scene, that’s all.” He patted his knee. “And I reckon I should rest this so I can get out of your hair.”
You pursed your lips.
“Fair enough.”
You couldn’t deny being disappointed, but he was dealing with enough without being forced into awkward social situations on top of having to stay with you when he clearly hadn’t wanted to.
“You gonna dance with Pete?” Will asked teasingly.
You laughed.
“Not likely. I think his husband will eat up most of his dance card.”
Will raised his brow but nodded.
That explains who ‘Mac’ is.
“Kia ora, beautiful.”
You both turned to face the man who had walked up to interrupt you.
Will first took note of the out of place attire.
While most people were milling about in casual clothing, the tall, spindly man standing at your table was in an expensive looking suit. It was perfectly tailored, and, paired with the flashy watch and sunnies he was just removing, he looked like someone you’d find in Auckland, not the wop-wops.
“Mornin’, Dan,” you greeted him casually, though your voice didn’t hold nearly the level of interest that you’d been greeted with.
Will glanced your way and took note of the placid smile on your face, a stark contrast to the way Dan seemed to be undressing you with his eyes.
“Always good to see you.”
Dan turned his attention to Will, tilting his head.
“Though I don’t believe we’ve met.” He put out his hand. “Dan Coates.”
Will sat up straighter to shake his hand.
“Will Johnson.”
“You new to town, Will?”
“Ah- no.” Will gestured dismissively. “Just visiting.”
Dan glanced between the both of you.
“Oh! Family?”
“No. Will’s a chicken coop enthusiast,” you answered lightly.
Will laughed while Dan tilted his head to figure out what that could possibly mean.
“I’m imposing on her hospitality,” Will corrected.
“Not even! I’m very happy to provide three square meals in exchange for free labour.”
Will narrowed his eyes at you playfully.
“Maybe you’re taking advantage of me, then.”
When you snorted, Dan shifted and cleared his throat.
“It’s not often you have visitors,” Dan remarked.
You shrugged, uninterested in elaborating.
“I hope you’re still coming tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“And Will?”
Will met his gaze.
“Think I’ll give it a miss. Don’t want to impose.”
“That’s a shame,” Dan lied, relief washing over his features.
He gestured to your stock.
“I’ll get a dozen eggs?”
You replied with the price, and made no particular fanfare as you accepted it and said a quick thanks.
“See you tonight.”
Dan winked, then walked off, head held high.
Will waited until Dan was out of earshot to lean over.
“That jafa seems to like you.”
You furrowed your brow in confusion as you tucked the money in your cash box.
“What’s a jafa?”
Will laughed under his breath.
“Uh- nevermind. It’s not a nice thing to say.”
You raised your brows and turned to him again.
“Dan Coates is a pillar of the community,” you began, in a mock-chastising tone. “And I’m told - repeatedly - that he is sorely lacking in a wife.”
“Must be ‘cause he blends right in.”
You covered your mouth to try to silence your laugh, and Will found himself smiling as he took note of the way your eyes wrinkled at the effort.
“You’re terrible,” you whispered, pulling yourself together as another customer made their way closer to your table.
Will smiled to himself as you seemed to light up for this new person, and he thought idly that Dan must have been dense to think you were interested in him given how your demeanor had changed so drastically when he’d shown up.
He looked out into the crowd and spotted him chatting up an older woman who was practically fawning. The man seemed to have everyone else eating out of the palm of his hands, so maybe it just didn’t occur to him that you’d be any different.
When you were alone at the table again, Will drummed his fingers against its edge.
“Why don’t you fancy Mr. Coates, then?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
You’d already forgotten about him, and was surprised by Will bringing him up.
“If he’s such a fine, upstanding man?”
You rolled your eyes.
“He is, you know? He’s very good to everyone. I don’t dislike him, exactly. He’s just not my type, that’s all.”
“Oh, you have a type.”
“Well- No, that’s not- I just…” You winced, shoulders raising in discomfort. “I dunno, he doesn’t do it for me.”
“And what does?”
The air was thick between you as you met each other’s gazes.
Oh, you know… Piercing blue eyes and golden curls and thick muscles… The kind of man who can rip out fence posts while recovering from a leg injury and still feel restless. Someone who would rather hunt to provide than pick out luxury sunglasses to wear to the farmer’s market…
Will’s eyes darted down to your lips and back, and you licked them unconsciously. He tilted his head the other way, but just as he parted his lips to say something, another customer appeared at the table.
“Kia ora!”
“Oh- g’morning.”
You shifted in your seat and forced a smile that slowly became genuine as you chatted up the woman who was picking out baked goods.
Will leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, reminding himself that it was probably better he drop that particular line of thinking.
---
Late that afternoon, you stepped into the living room after having gotten ready for the evening.
Will stilled at the sight of you, momentarily rethinking declining your invitation. You looked almost like a different person, your hair perfectly styled, sporting smokey eye makeup and false lashes, and looking completely out of his league in the backless dress you were wearing.
“Pete and Mac are on their way to pick me up. Dinner’s in the fridge, and help yourself to whatever,” you greeted, worried he wouldn’t eat without your insistence.
He blinked as though coming out of a daze.
“Uh- yeah, ta. Will do.”
You caught the way he was looking at you and chewed your lower lip.
“Is it too much? Should I change?”
“No! No, you look skux.”
You scrunched your face in confusion.
“Skux? Is that a good thing?”
He laughed under his breath, hanging his head and shutting his eyes momentarily before looking up through his long, pale lashes.
“Yeah. You look great.”
He shifted and licked his lips.
“Pete’s a lucky man.”
You laughed.
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”
He chuckled but shook his head.
“Oh, no, don’t.”
He looked you over again and raised his brows.
“I bet Dan Coates will be all over you,” he teased.
“Oh god.” You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Probably. What a drag.”
He snickered, secretly relieved that you thought so.
You pouted playfully.
“You sure I can’t twist your arm into coming? You’d save me a lot of trouble.”
He contemplated it, but shook his head.
“Nah. Not my scene.”
You sighed dramatically.
“Well, alright then. It can’t be helped.”
You both perked up at the sound of a vehicle on the gravel road.
“That’ll be Pete. See you tonight!”
---
Will heard the crunch of a vehicle on the gravel road, but frowned when he realized it didn’t sound like the truck you’d left in.
He got out of bed still naked and walked to the window to peer through the sun-faded curtains.
A shiny red sedan pulled up the driveway out front, and he saw you get out the passenger side as Dan Coates opened the driver door.
He watched you gesture dismissively at Dan, looking grumpy and out of sorts as you made your way to the house. Dan simply stood watching, finally climbing back into his vehicle as Will heard you unlock the front door.
He let go of the curtain and returned to the bed, wondering if it would be odd of him to greet you. He sat in the dark, listening, but after several minutes, you still hadn’t made your way down the hall to your room.
He huffed.
It wasn’t like he was going to be able to sleep now anyway, too many scenarios running through his mind.
He took a pair of grey joggers from his pack and pulled them on hastily before opening the bedroom door.
The kitchen light illuminated the end of the hallway, and he could hear you making some unfamiliar noise there. As he approached, he realized what it was.
He stepped into the room to see you leaning against the counter beside the sink, an open beer in one hand, and the other pressing at your face as you cried quietly.
“What’s wrong?”
You dropped your can in alarm, beer spilling over the tiled floor.
“Jesus-”
Will moved to deal with the mess, righting the can and throwing the kitchen towel from your oven handle over the puddle.
He gazed up at you from his crouching position by your feet.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, I-” You sniffled, wiping at your face. “I just forgot you were here. Sorry.”
How you could have possibly forgotten about the dreamboat houseguest for even a moment, you weren’t sure. And now he was wiping the floor clean for you in nothing but joggers, looking like he lived here.
As if.
That would be lovely, but you told yourself not to be deluded.
You moved away, pulling a clean towel out of a cupboard as he placed the sullied one - and your half-empty can - in the sink.
When you both were done, he stood before you, his impossibly blue eyes searching your now-reddened ones.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
“Doesn’t matter.”
He shrugged, a smile playing on his lips, eyes soft with affection.
“Tell me anyway.”
You sighed, hugging yourself as you looked away.
“It’s just- There comes a time in the night where everyone just… pairs off. So I’m standing there, alone, watching all the old couples dancing…”
You shut your eyes as you trailed off, wincing as you recalled how awkward you’d felt and what had happened next.
Will hummed.
“And you with no date of your own.”
“That was part of it.”
You shrugged, feeling stupid. You’d gotten wasted in an attempt to ease your discomfort, but it had just made you ornery.
Will stepped over to the boombox that sat on top of the sideboard buffet. He pressed play, unsure what to expect when the CD whirred to life inside.
You laughed when Michael Bublé’s version of ‘Put Your Head on My Shoulder’ started playing.
“Oh god, Aunt Macy…”
But Will stepped over to you with his hands out to invite you to dance, his expectant expression telling you he was serious about the offer.
You took his hands and swallowed as he guided one to his shoulder so he could grip your waist on that side, your other hands held fast, palm-to-palm.
You let him lead you in slow, careful steps on the uneven kitchen tiles.
“You’re a better dancer than I would have thought,” you murmured.
Especially with a leg injury.
Will smiled sardonically.
“Picked it up cuz chicks love to slow dance, and loads of guys won’t do it.”
You snickered, moving closer to hug him close like you did at school dances as a teen.
Lost in the euphoria of pressing against his bare torso, you shut your eyes to stop the room from spinning.
You could feel his body radiating heat, warming your bare shoulders and arms as you tried to identify what he smelled like.
“It’s nice,” you murmured.
You wanted to stay like this for a long time.
He swallowed, moving his hand up your back to hold you close. It happened to find the exposed skin, and he wondered suddenly if this was alright.
You were clearly drunk, and you barely knew each other. He thought again about how vulnerable you’d made yourself, letting a strange man into your home like this, knowing what other men might do in this situation; how they might hurt you.
His hand twitched against your bare back and he pressed his chin to your shoulder, his beard tickling your skin.
You should know better, he thought. You should be more careful.
Of course, you weren’t at all concerned about him being a threat.
You were completely comfortable in his hold, despite only knowing him a few days. Blissed out, your sour mood had completely dissolved thanks to his kind gesture. To you, Will was just further proof that the world could be good to you if you gave it a chance.
You pulled back a bit, moving your head to try to meet his gaze. He mirrored your actions, tucking his lower lip under his teeth briefly as you searched his pale blues.
“You should have come,” you lamented. One of your hands moved up to cup his scruffy cheek. “I would have liked that much better.”
He frowned, still unclear what exactly had happened to upset you.
Then you tipped forward, catching him off-guard. He stilled as your lips met his, his eyes closing as he kissed back automatically before he could think straight. It was only when he identified the taste of alcohol in your kiss that he stopped.
Fuck, what am I doing?
He pulled away suddenly as the song ended and hit the stop button on the machine. He wiped his mouth with his hand as he took a deep breath, then turned to face you again.
“We should get you to bed,” he suggested.
You pointed at him, then stepped closer to boop his nose.
“I will get myself to bed.”
Will nodded, tense with discomfort.
That had more or less been what he meant, but he understood that you may have taken that as him trying it on.
“Good.”
“Thank you for the dance.”
“My pleasure.”
“Good night Will Johnson.”
“Night,” he nodded. “Oh! Bring your water bottle.”
“For bed?”
“For the hangover you’re going to have tomorrow.”
You gestured dismissively.
“Pahhhh.”
Still, he pulled your bottle out of the fridge and pressed it into your hands before watching you stumble down the hallway.
Your nonchalance made him question what you’d been thinking when you’d kissed him.
Were you too drunk to realize?
Though he couldn’t deny he’d wanted to kiss you for days now.
A conversation for tomorrow.
He shook his head, smiling to himself, but after a moment he leaned against the counter and sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
His mind raced with impossible scenarios; Kel Morrison and his men surrounding the cottage, trying to get in. Trying to get him. Or you.
He winced at the pain in his leg - maybe dancing had been a bit ambitious when it had already been giving him grief - but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he checked all the doors and windows again.
---
A/N: The WIP currently has 8 parts so we'll see how that goes (usually the stories grow as I write them... oops). Thank you so much for reading this if you did! ♥
Tags: @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @the-poldarkian @fortheloveofdurin @spngingerbread21 @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23
As always, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from a taglist (for everything, for specific characters, etc.)
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Sourdough Q & A - Open!
A comment from my dear friend @tsfennec has reminded me of the pressing need to tell the world that Paul Hollywood and his ilk can take a flying leap with their autolyses and levains and hydration percentages, and anyone else who makes it sound like baking sourdough bread is a terribly delicate and precise art and that your starter will die if you look at it funny. It’s that kind of talk that made me terrified to try sourdough for ages. But now I’ve been baking a loaf a day for the past two years and saving a ton of money -- not to mention sparing myself and my family a lot of yucky stomach-upsetting commercial additives -- I’m only mad that it took me so long.
Among the many myths that have grown up around sourdough, it’s not true that you need to feed your starter daily and throw out 3/4 of it if you aren’t using it right away. If you have a decently active starter, you can feed whatever scrapings of it are left after baking and then bung the jar in the fridge for a couple days, a week, or even more until you’re ready to bake with it again. Unless you neglect it for so long that it turns black and oozy (which can take a month or more), it will be fine.
It’s also not true that “real” sourdough bread has to taste sour. That was another thing that made me reluctant to try it, because I don’t actually love that acid flavour. Turns out, though, the sour tang is easy to avoid if you don’t want it!
It’s also not especially labour intensive. I spend about ten minutes a day in total making my sourdough, and that includes feeding the starter for the next batch. The rest of the time it’s just quietly proofing on the countertop or fridge, or baking in the oven. I can go from flour, water and starter to a nice crusty loaf in about 18 hours, or stretch it out to as much as 30 hours if the last loaf isn’t used up yet. It all turns out tasty in the end!
Anyway, if you’re in the place I was a couple years back, and thinking somewhat wistfully that you might like to try making sourdough but it seems somewhat Complicated and Worrisome, I am here for you. Send me your questions and I shall do my best to help!
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Mr Evershed x teen!reader - Weight of the world
Part 5:
Mr Evershed came by after school like he did every day, and you were working outside, chopping fire wood around the side of your house.
He walked over, and he set a bag of shopping by your front door.
“Good afternoon.” He greeted.
You looked over at him.
“Hello.”
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
He walked over, sitting down on the bench a few feet away from you.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked.
You nodded your head, setting another log in front of you and you brought your ace up so you could swing it down.
“It’s been a month now (Y/N), I think you would benefit from talking to somebody about what happened.”
You paused, looking over at him.
“Why? It’s not going to change anything.”
“Because sometimes talking about how we feel can help us understand our emotions.”
“That’s a waste of time.”
You went back to chopping up some wood, and then you gathered it all, carrying it inside and he followed you.
He picked up the bag he left at the door and took it through to your kitchen, scratching Meeko on the back as he walked past.
You were putting some logs on the fire, and you put the fire grate back in place as you followed him to the kitchen.
“You wanted Milk, I don’t know where your fridge is.”
He handed you the carton of milk, and you walked to a cupbaord door, opening it to reveal a hidden fridge and he chuckled a little bit.
“And I thought you didn’t have any electricity in this place.”
“I have a generator, it’s in the basement.”
“Oh yes, the mysterious basement. That’s not normal for Uk houses you know.”
“Neither are dragons. Yet here we are in a world that has been dealing with both for a little over 150 years.”
He hummed a little bit.
“You’ve been keeping up on your history.”
“It’s common knowledge and anybody that doesn’t know it is stupid. Here.”
You handed him a wooden box and he took it, opening it to look inside.
“Bread?”
“You mentioned your daughters like chocolate chips, so I made a loaf for them, I had to use the dough for something and I don’t need more bread right now.”
He put the lid back on the box and smiled at you.
“Thank you.”
You nodded your head, putting the rest of your shopping away where it belonged.
“You asked me to bring you some of the work you needed to catch up. For a student who didn’t care much about school I have to ask, why do I have to keep bringing your work for you?”
“Tim said I had to keep going to school, he said it was important.”
Mr Evershed set your books down on the kitchen table for you.
“You’re doing this for him.” He spoke gently.
You took a deep breath, placing your hands on the counter as you looked out of your kitchen window.
“I’m going everything I do for him. He’s the only reason I kept on going this long, because if it wasn’t for him I would’ve given everything up a long time ago.”
“(Y/N)…”
You turned to look at the headteacher.
“I was raised by him, he was more than my brother. He was my father, my mother, my best friend, all in one. He fought for me when nobody else would. He protected me.”
“He was a good man.”
“He was more than that. He was the best man.”
You walked over to the pile of letters that were building up on the far kitchen counter, and you looked at the newest one addressed to you.
You set it aside with the others.
“We can help you find a therapist, you can go alone or I can come with you if that makes you more comfortable.”
“People die, that’s the way of life. There’s no point in being sad over something that was always bound to happen.”
“Of course there is, there’s always a reason to be sad over the loss of somebody, you need to grief, especially when it’s the loss of somebody so close to you.” He said gently.
You sighed heavily.
“That’s stupid.”
“No it’s not, it’s normal to be upset (Y/N).”
You went to reply but there was a knock on your door.
Glancing at him, you made your towards the door and opened it, looking at the group who stood on the other side.
“No.”
You slammed the door shut, and it was pushed open once more.
“You don’t have a choice. With Tim gone we’ve been sent to help you.”
“I don’t give a shit, turn around and go back. I don’t want your help.”
“You’ve not been preforming your duties!” A woman hissed.
You glared, pushing them all outside, and you turned to look at Mr Evershed who was stood in the doorway waiting.
“Give me a moment.”
“Of course.”
You went outside, closing the door behind you and you spun around to look at the five of them.
“You go back and you tell the greybeards that I’m done playing their game. I am done playing by their stupid rules.”
“You have a duty!”
“I don’t care Markus!” You snapped.
“And you should! Because things are getting out of hand! We’ve had to send people all over to clean up what you’ve not been doing!” Markus snapped back.
You took the knife out of your belt and aimed it at him, and they all took a step away from you.
“(Y/N) we can only do so much, we need your help.” Ebony said gently.
“I don’t care. Tell those old bastards if they want to get something done they can do it themselves.”
“You’re the dragonborn, this is your destiny, the role you were born to play in this world.” Violet spoke.
“I didn’t ask for this! I never wanted to do this!” You yelled.
You threw your knife into the ground at her feet, eyes boring into all of theirs.
“I wanted to be a normal teenager! I wanted to live with my brother!”
“He died a hero.” Frank said.
“He didn’t deserve to die! He shouldn’t have died! They should have sent more people to help him!”
“We had no idea how bad it was.”
You scoffed.
“Of course they did, they always know.”
They all shared a look.
“We’ll keep doing what we can to hold everything at bay, but we need a whole army to take down the dragons, they’re struggling (Y/N). If you don’t help then this world is done for.”
“Then so be it. I don’t care anymore. They should’ve let Alduin take this world all those years ago.”
You turned around, making your way back to your front door.
“You’re a coward.”
You stopped.
“Turning your back on everything you were ever taught, abandoning your cause just because of a death. You both knew the price we pay for what we do.”
You said nothing as you walked back inside, slamming the door closed behind you.
Mr Evershed looked up from where he was sat on your sofa going through some paperwork, and he offered you a reassuring smile.
“Is everything alright?” He asked.
You nodded, making your way over and you sat next to him, picking up one of your schoolbooks so you could start working.
You worked quietly for a few minutes but you couldn’t get what they had said out of your head.
“Can I ask you something?” You asked.
“Of course.”
Mr Evershed set his papers down, and you didn’t bother looking up from your work.
“If you had a duty to do, even if you didn’t like it, would you do it?”
“Well, it depends on what that duty was.”
“What if it involved saving a lot of people?”
“Then I would do it. If I had the chance to save somebody else then I would.”
You nodded your head, leaning over to pick up the cup of tea that he had made for you.
It wasn’t the best, it wasn’t made with natural herbs and plants like you made it, but out of respect for the fact that he made it for you you drank it.
“Why do you ask?”
“I guess I was just thinking about all those books where people save other people, even if they don’t know them.”
“Like superhero books?”
You nodded your head.
“I think sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do (Y/N), sometimes we don’t have a choice, we still do it. We can’t always do things that we enjoy doing.”
“I know.”
“(Y/N) look at me.”
You set your book down, turning your attention to him.
“Whenever you do something, always think of something worth doing it for. You don’t like school but you’re doing it for Tim.”
“He’s not here anymore, so what is the point of doing things for him now aside from this?”
“To keep his memory alive, I’m sure you both had many ideas that you shared, things you both wanted to do together.”
You sighed, looking away, kicking your feet up on the table.
“In a way, yes and no. We had some things we wanted to do, travel, explore, learn new things. He wanted to do other things I didn’t, have a standard job, live in a city, things like that.”
“You prefer the simple life out here?”
“People like me are better left on our own. That’s what I was taught, that’s what I believe.”
“That’s not true (Y/N), you more than anybody deserve friends. A family. A good home.”
“You don’t know me.”
He smiled a little.
“I know more than you think, I know for some reason you see it as you against the world, you carry a lot of weight on your shoulders and you don’t want to, I know you’re a smart kid, you like the simple life and that’s all you want.”
You glanced up at him.
“I’m sorry for whatever happened to you that made you this way.” He said quietly.
“You had nothing to do with it, why would you say sorry?”
“Because I can tell whatever it is took its toll on you, and it’s changed you. I just hope you’ll talk to somebody about it one day.”
“Life is unfair, we must all accept that.”
“There are still some good things to life you know.”
“Like what?” You scoffed.
Mr Evershed smiled, and he gestured to Meeko who was sleeping by the fire.
“Dogs for one.”
He gestured for you to follow him, so you got up and followed him outside, and he gestured to your garden.
“Your garden, you’re being self sufficient. Your horse, they’re god animals. It doesn’t have to be the big things that makes life good.”
You seemed more confused than ever.
“Life isn’t just about the big picture, about growing up, working, all of that. It’s about all the little things as well.”
“Like snowball fights?”
Mr Evershed smiled softly at you.
“Yeah, yeah like snowball fights. Did you ever have any?”
“Yeah, with Tim when we were young. We used to play pranks as well, I’d give him the ideas and he’d help me do them.”
He smiled a little more.
“See, there is good things in this world.”
The reached out, tapping the side of your head.
“And those good memories are what you need to focus on, focus on remembering them, and making more.”
You slowly nodded your head.
“Will you come for a walk with me?”
“Yeah, of course.”
You walked over to your door, letting out a whistle and Meeko came bounding over and outside so you could close the door.
You took Mr Evershed down the trail next to your house, Meeko running ahead of you both.
“I don’t know how to make more happy memories.”
“Well, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” He asked.
“I have never watched a movie before, I think that would be interesting.”
Mr Evershed smiled at you.
“Well, I’m sure we can sort that out for you.”
“Why would you help me?”
“Because I want to. Because I think you need that right now.”
You nodded your head, putting your hands in your pocket as you carried on walking
#ackley bridge#ackley bridge imagine#ackley bridge x reader#ackley bridge x you#mr evershed#mr evershed x reader#mr evershed imagine#mr evershed x you
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Aaaaaaand we’re back! Shoutout to @lunar-rainclouds for being the sweetest person ever ❤️ hope you enjoy the next instalment of Roomba AU :)
Waterworks
The holidays don’t go smoothly…
Word Count: 2100
Gentle paws kneaded the blanket as Petra scritched Nigel under the chin, the black cat emitting a steady purr. Her other hand rested on the large swell of her stomach as the baby kicked and wiggled. Fairy lights twinkled on the Christmas tree as the tv droned in the background, reruns of an old sitcom lost to her as bliss enveloped her on the sofa.
Levi brought the steaming mug in from the kitchen. He gazed for a moment at his wife as she doted over the beloved pet, the very picture of maternal bliss. He allowed the tiniest smile to form on his lips as he watched the scene from the doorway. Not long now. Nigel met Levi’s eyes from his spot on his favourite human.
The cat hadn’t left Petra alone since the early weeks of her pregnancy. Everywhere Petra went, the feline followed. If she sat down, he was there head butting at her stomach. When she lay down to sleep the cat was close to follow, kneading at the blankets covering her midsection. As she’d progressed through the months and watched her feet disappear, Petra had nearly tripped over the cat an alarming number of times, much to Levi’s distress.
“Damn animal’s obsessed with you”, Levi mumbled padding into the room as Petra sat fussing Nigel’s ears.
“He’s just excited to meet his new sibling, aren’t you my little bread loaf?” Nigel shot Levi a triumphant look as he curled his tail round, nestling further into the knitted blanket draped over Petra’s stomach. “Hey maybe he’s kneading at me so much coz he knows I’ve got a bun in the oven? Eh, geddit?”
Levi rolled his eyes. He could hardly talk though. Since Petra had announced her pregnancy, Levi had doted on her. It had revealed his most tender side; rubbing her back during the bouts of morning sickness (which Levi grimly found out weren’t just a morning thing), putting lotion on her stretch marks, massaging her feet when they got sore. Turns out her only major craving had been carrots, but Levi made sure to keep a good stock in the fridge.
The first scan, he was woe to admit, he nearly cried at. Seeing their baby for the first time on the fuzzy ultrasound screen and hearing the sound of its heartbeat opened up a part of his heart he hadn’t been introduced to until that moment.
Sure he was nervous. Not having a father figure in their life would affect any new dad - and no, Kenny didn’t count. But he’d had a strong as hell mother to raise him to be the man he was this present day. He was determined to raise his own kid giving it all the love his mom had poured into his upbringing without the worries over basic shit like he’d had growing up.
Petra eagerly accepted the herbal tea off her husband, “Thanks, I think I overdid it earlier”
Levi gave her a chastising look, “You’re supposed to rest until the brat makes an appearance. Doctor’s orders”
“The baby’s due in just over a week, I think I’m past the point of going into premature labour sweetie”
Levi grumbled under his breath as he settled onto the couch next to her.
***
Since being condemned to bed rest a month ago, Petra has gone into full on nesting mode. More than once Levi had come home to a completely reorganised apartment, the contents of cupboards spilled out across their home as Petra frantically rearranged and re-sorted their belongings. “It just didn’t feel right - I just reorganised a few things!”, Levi stared in exasperation at the now completely re-stacked bookshelf and empty bottles of windex littering the living room. He decided to ignore the rickety ass stepladder propped up against the wall.
“Tch, definitely my kid”
***
They cuddled on the sofa as the rain continued tapping the windows. Spencer rolled in, sporting a small knitted hat as its brushes whirred across the laminate. Levi gave a withering look to his wife.
Petra answered with her own beaming smile, “Oh don’t look at me like that, he just wants to feel festive”
“It’s a fucking Roomba!”
Petra kissed up his jaw, “Shh, don’t shout at the pregnant person”.
____________________
The rain had continued to pour into the next morning. Levi looked out at the miserable sky with distaste before turning back to his wife in annoyance.
Petra scowled back, “Levi seriously it’s just Braxton Hicks, you need to stop fussing”
“And you need to take it easy, stop trying to move furniture!”
“It was getting dusty behind the crib!”
“That’s what the robot vacuum’s for!”. Levi stomped back into the living room.
Petra waddled after her husband, determined to prove that she wasn’t an invalid. Getting her best pout on, she was ready to unleash a month’s worth of bed ridden pregnancy hormones, but stopped when she caught Levi staring at the TV. A local news reporter channel. She watched as horror slowly spread across his face.
“-devastating scenes of Karanes trailer park this morning as flood water swept through the area leaving hundreds without power or-”
Petra gaped at the distressing scenes pictured on the television screen. She opened her mouth to say something but Levi was already rushing to the hallway, digging through the closet for some boots.
Petra shouted down the hallway, “Levi at least call her! Search and rescue might already-!”
But he was gone.
____________________
A few hours later Levi had returned, soaked to his skin but thankfully with a relatively unharmed Kuchel and a small bag of her belongings in tow.
Now the three of them sat at the kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea in hand. Levi’s foot tapped against the tiles as he prepared for the incoming argument.
Kuchel set her cup down on the coaster, “You don’t have to fuss honey, I really am fine”. He would have believed his mother if she hadn’t started sneezing immediately after. He offered her the tissue box, “Tch like hell you are, I told you that something like this would happen eventually”. He muttered darkly about ‘damn idiots building on flood plains’ as he went to refill their mugs.
Petra reached across the table to hold her mother in law’s hand, “It really wouldn’t be any trouble Kuchel, we’d love to have you and we’d definitely feel better knowing you’re safe and dry in the apartment rather than in a trailer park prone to flooding”.
“I know what you’re saying sweetheart, but I really can’t impose on you like this. You’re gonna have a little one to take care of very soon and the last thing you need is for me to be in the way”
As if to prove a point, Petra winced as the baby kicked.
Levi’s jaw tensed. He turned back to his mother.
“You’re staying here”, Kuchel opened her mouth to protest but Levi held up his hand and carried on.
“The park is flooded with no electricity and by the time it dries out it’s gonna be damp for weeks, maybe months if the heating doesn’t kick back in. You’ll get sick. You’re staying with us until I deem the trailer inhabitable for you or you find an apartment. End of discussion.”
Kuchel’s eyes softened towards her son, “Thank you sweetie, though I could always give Kenny a ring”
“You are not living with that psycho”. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled deeply, sliding back onto the wooden chair, “Just let yourself be taken care of for once, please”. Petra’s hand squeezed his knee under the table.
Petra turned to the older woman, “Look, let’s talk more about this in the morning. It’s been a tough day for everyone and the main thing is that you’re safe and dry and more than welcome to spend the holidays with us at the very least ok?”.
Kuchel smiled at her daughter in law, conceding the argument for the evening, “Only until I find an apartment”.
Three empty mugs later and one mother settled onto the pull out sofa for the night, Levi finally rolled into bed with Petra. Sleep didn’t come. His mom was incredibly caring and grateful, but stubborn. She was too used to working herself into the ground if necessary for the things she had and Levi hated it.
The alarm clock ticked its steady rhythm.
He shut his eyes and fell into restless slumber.
_____________________
The next morning, brought little resolution. Every avenue they looked into pointed to one blaring conclusion. They were gonna need a bigger boat. Or in more actualistic terms, a fucking mortgage and more square footage. Visions of sleazy estate agents trying to glaze over poorly hidden structural issues flooded Levi’s mind. Petra had spent the morning trying to soothe her husband’s nerves.
“You know it could actually be a blessing, we could find a house with a garden”. Petra stretched her back, “And it’s not as if there’s a massive amount of stuff between us all, we could always have a garage sale…minus the garage”.
Levi leant against the counter and let out a heavy sigh. It was true that they would certainly be hard pressed for space if his mother came to live with them and there was definitely going to be arguments about how stuff was done around the home. They’d have to set clear boundaries and rethink the nursery to accommodate a spare bed while they searched for a house. But the thought of having his mother go back to the ruined mobile home with no guarantee that it wouldn’t flood again made bile claw up his throat. No. His mom had had it rough raising him on her own. She’d sacrificed so much for him growing up. All the clothes she’d mended, the jobs she’d worked, the jewellery she’d pawned to make sure they always had food on the table. She’d even sold her car to help pay for his tuition to get into a good college. No way. He was not gonna send her back to some damp ass trailer no matter how much she protested. It was the least he could do.
A loud splash broke him out of his thoughts.
“Damn cat! Knocking shit over”, he groused as he grabbed the tea towel to mop up the mess.
He paused.
Something was off with the scene in front of him. He’d expected to be met with a mess on the table cloth, maybe even a chipped glass, and a startled cat. However Nigel was perched on top of the fridge, innocently cleaning his asshole. The table cloth remained intact, no stain to be seen. Petra’s empty breakfast bowl sat on the placemat ready to be washed up.
The full glass of water sat resolutely on the table.
Levi’s eyes tracked down to the puddle on the floor directly under Petra’s feet now soaking into her slippers.
He watched as his wife doubled over letting out a hiss of pain.
Oh.
Fuck.
_____________________
The next few hours seemed to happen in a millisecond and in slow motion all at once.
The drive to the hospital was a blur. Then there was the checking in and the anxious phone calls from his mother. Then the waiting. And the waiting. And the waiting…
And finally, in the late hours of Christmas Eve, Rowan Ackerman entered the world.
Levi sat in the chair next to the hospital bed as Petra slept, cradling his son. He pulled back the blanket a little as the infant squirmed, a little tuft of jet black hair sticking out. The baby yawned and tiny amber eyes gazed up at him briefly before settling back into slumber. God he couldn’t stop staring. Minute fingers curled themselves round his own as Levi readjusted the blanket (lovingly knitted by the newly appointed Grandma). The colours were a little uneven and the edges were stretched to an odd shape but it didn’t matter. ‘This way I can give my Grandbaby a hug every night’, Kuchel had told him as she handed it over at Petra’s baby shower.
Anxiety at his mother’s (and by proxy their own) living situation tried to claw its way up but found no purchase. For the first time in the last 48 hours Levi found nothing but peace staring back at him. It would all work out. Levi looked at his family and his heart filled over.
Between all the drama and happiness and hurt and surprises along the way, they would be still be here.
And Levi couldn’t be fucking happier.
END
Ackerbaby’s name is in no way a reference to any sort of big ass trees. No sir.
If you’re still following this silly little AU of mine then welcome back! Sorry for the mini hiatus but life got BUSY (much like Levi and Petra’s is about to here ha)
Thank you again for reading, you’re the best ❤️
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Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates (Chapter 3: Whispers of Ghosts)
Summary: Kassie had been running from many things throughout her life. Running from her father. From Love. From Happiness. Falling headfirst to whatever she could just to make herself feel more alive. She became someone she never wanted to be. What happens when one dreary night she meets someone who along the way begins to show her that perhaps she was meant for something greater than what she made for herself and just maybe, Dreams can come true?
Pairing: Morpheus x Original Character
Warnings: Maybe some fluff? Serious talk
“Ghosts don't haunt us. That's not how it works. They're present among us because we won't let go of them." - Sue Grafton, M is for Malice
Wonderland's Workshop
<<Chapter 2
He was back. Sitting there moping like a broody teenager. Or perhaps, he just hated his life with the way he watched the kids play in front of him. He did not hold a loaf of bread in his hands anymore and maybe that is why he felt so mopey. His hands were clasped together in front of him as he leaned his elbows on his knees. His face was a blank slate of ivory skin and his lips pursed like he was sucking a lemon. Did he always look like that? When the sun was shining; giving a break from the rain this week just for today most people would be out and about the town. Window shopping and visiting yummy bakeries or coffee shops for goodies, people taking a walk with their dogs, or a jog down the sidewalk while the gentle breeze cooled their skin. The weather was lovely in its changing seasons as the first few oranges and yellow leaves were littering the sidewalks as people strolled past. But here he was sitting there with a cloud of gray over his head; damn near visible to anyone who cared to look. Or had the ability to. And thus Kassie found herself standing just across the street from the open public park taking notice of the one person she probably shouldn’t have paid much attention to.
But her feet hurt from wandering the streets all day in search of a job; not that she needed one, it was more to pass the time and feel like a normal human being for once instead of sitting her ass on the sofa watching TV all day. She wanted one, but she didn’t need one. Corinthian’s promise of never needing to worry about money was true with how the bills always seemed to be paid in advance and food in the fridge at all times making her wonder where he is getting the money or the time to stock things. Hell, even her bank account continued to be filled from an unknown source every month, giving her the ability to spoil herself if she wanted to; go buy some new clothes, buy herself a decent car, go get her nails or hair done. Whatever the hell she wanted; there was enough now saved that she could even leave New York if she wanted to. Something inside of her wanted to. New York had no more purpose to her than the job she’d left behind. But she did not want to leave Corinthian; they had a good thing going. A bit complex but good. So she’d occupied her time with walking the streets and chatting people up instead, just like today when she’d run into a coffee shop for her usual iced coffee and then found herself inside of a bookstore she’d never even realized was there; spending a good half hour standing there talking with one of the workers as she browsed their options on literature. It surprised her how genuine some people could be after months of knowing those who wanted nothing but to see her tits.
But then, as she headed away from the shops; she saw him sitting there all alone and she couldn’t help but pause and admire, or stare like some weirdo from across the street debating on whether or not she should approach. Their last encounter was an odd one and left much to be desired but at the same time; Kassie thought back to those brooding stares and wondered if perhaps he was in need of company despite it all. Something in his eyes made her feel as if there was a hint of loneliness behind them even when his approach was rather cold at first; she’d like to think he’d warmed up to her. So she sucked it up; clutching the new book she’d just bought from the bookshop in town in one hand and her coffee in the other before she started putting one foot in front of the other; propelling herself across the street before she second-guessed herself and turned back, altogether. The woman did not make her way to him immediately, though. Unsure of how to approach it without being awkward about it. Instead, her hazel eyes scanned the surroundings trying to find something that she could use as an excuse to go over to him. A snack cart was stationed in the shade beneath a large tree; colorful with varieties of options to choose from and she was inwardly fist pumping the air; perhaps she could play a smooth move by offering him some snackery to ease his broody self. What was the saying again? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?
She’d made quick work of buying a packet of peanut M&M’s and a tub of blue and pink cotton candy from the vendor; hoping that this was enough to at least spark a conversation with the dark and brooding man. She struggled to juggle her items as she carried her book, the snacks, and her drink while she veered towards the bench where the man sat unmoving staring down at his shoes with a pinched expression on his face as if his thoughts were troubling him. He looked so pitiful she almost wanted to cry with him. His face reflected the confusion and frustration that she’d been feeling for the past few months while being cooped up without a support system to back her up. Her shoes scraped against the grass as she went from concrete to lawn and moments later her butt planted itself onto the familiar wooden bench making it creak at her weight. Corinthian always kept telling her to make more friends, albeit spoken in a cocky manner fit to get that know it all smirk smacked right off his face, and go live a little instead of moping in the apartment so much since she’d lost her job; she’d hope he’d be proud to hear she was at least trying.
“I feel like there is a pattern here.” her voice was soft but not unpleasant as she settled her things onto the bench between them; daring to look over at him to see he was giving her a side eye as an acknowledgment of her present.
When he didn’t say anything to her she decided to press on “No birds today I see.” still no answer so she grabbed the tub of cotton candy and popped the lid.
She carefully tore a tuft of pink from the fluff in the plastic container before placing it on her tongue; sighing as the sugary cotton melted instantly on her tongue. “God, I can’t remember the last time I had cotton candy, so good!” she groaned lightly as she dug another pinch from the container and held it out towards the man with a small smile and playful expression
“Want some?” his blue eyes fell to the offered cotton ball in between her fingers and he looked at it as if it offended him making Kassie put effort into not laughing at the look that crossed the man’s face as his lips finally parted to reply with a despondent
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, so he does speak!” Kassie went with it and placed the candy into her mouth again. “I was starting to think I might have imagined our earlier conversation; I tend to do that a lot. Daydreaming and all. Hardly much to do nowadays now that I don’t have a job.” she mused looking across at the people enjoying the day
“You talk too much.” anyone else would be offended at the blunt insult but Kassie merely chortled and grabbed her iced coffee to take a sip; subconscious now as she realized the man was watching her the entire time.
“And you don’t talk half as much. Would it kill you to be friendly for once?” Kassie raised a brow as she wrapped her lips around her straw and sipped idly at the half-melted concoction in her cup.
“I do not know you.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t learn to.” she quipped back before setting her things to the side and leaning closer to the man, holding her palm out. “Let’s start with a simple introduction. That could help, right? I’m Kassie. Nice to meet you.”
The pale eyes fell to her outstretched hand but he did not reply nor did he take the offered hand. Stubborn as always, Kassie merely wiggled her fingers at him as if silently daring him to refuse or daring him to accept. Whichever one it was, her satisfaction could not be hidden even if she tried when -with much reluctance, the stranger unclasped his hands and reached over to place his hand in hers. Giving it a firm squeeze in greeting and causing Kassie to smile.
“This is the part where you introduce yourself by name.” the woman stated giving him a pointed but playful look.
He looked like a scolded child who didn’t want to admit he was wrong. “I…I am Morpheus.”
“Morpheus huh? That’s…” she tilted her head, her hair that was placed into a messy side braid falling over her shoulder and stray locks fluttering in the light breeze casting tiny shadows along her olive skin as she gazed over at him with a curious look.
“That’s a very strong name Morpheus, very unique.” she finally allowed his hand to slip from hers. “I like it. It reminds me of something from Greek mythology.”
At the compliment of his name the man, Morpheus, studied her with a bit of new light sparking in the depths of his blue eyes. “You do not seem the kind to enjoy folklore.”
Kassie’s face twisted in surprise. “Folklore? Seriously?! Mythology isn’t folklore. Not for the people that used to live before this generation. Mythology isn’t just fantasy. The gods and goddesses written in history were deities to the people of the old eras. I’d like to think that there is more to Mythology than the myths people claim aren’t true.”
“You believe there are gods?” Morpheus rested his elbows on his knees once more.
He watched as the woman reached out between them to where a hardcover brown book with golden leathering and design rested on the bench. She grabbed it with careful fingers and rested the book on her lap. Her fingertips tracing the patterns on the cover absently
“I don’t know. I mean, I never considered myself a religious person. But I do believe everyone has their own belief systems in something. If humanity didn’t believe in something; what is the reason for living y’know” she shrugged.
There was silence between them as each fell into their own thoughts. Morpheus surprised the woman when he broke it between them to ask her a question. His gaze never once left the grass beneath his feet as if he could see every single blade under his shoes and he was counting them.
“And what do you believe in, Kassie?”
The way her name rolled off his tongue spoke in that tone, in that voice. Kassie felt something twinge in the inner parts of her being. No, it was not a sexual thing. But it stirred something inside of her that made her feel as if…well as if he was speaking to a different version of herself that she herself hadn’t recognized in a very long time.
Her lips curled up slightly in an almost mournful twitch of her mouth as she avoided his gaze and instead looked down at her book. “I don’t…I don’t know anymore. Most days, it’s all I can do is believe in just myself to get me going. The thought of…putting my faith or hope in something that is out of my control…” she shook her head and laughed a bit as she turned her gaze to him with a bit more of a smile that was forced
“I cannot find anything to believe in other than myself because no one has ever shown me that my trust and faith will not be abused or tossed away.” she finally replied with a breath.
The way he looked at her was a mixture of sadness and understanding. But there was something else in those depths of blue that made Kassie think that there was a pain very kin to her own that was born from betrayal. As if he knew just what she meant and he felt pity for her just as he had felt remorse and pity for himself. The air was too heavy between them so she quickly turned her gaze away, breaking whatever connection they were sharing to instead change the subject by raising the book she had been playing with moments before.
“Are you a reader? There is this bookshop in the town where I found this book at. It’s an old literature piece of a story that I hadn’t read in…god I don’t know how long ago. But, it’s The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe. He was an American writer who was also a poet, an editor, and a literary critic of all professions. He was born in….1807 - wait no, he was born 1809 in Boston and had this love and passion for all things mystery and the macabre. His writings consisted of things such as poems and short stories; especially those of mystery and macabre genres. This one has a poem in it that’s called The Raven which he’d written that tells of a talking raven’s mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow descent into madness and grief after losing his lover Lenor to death.” Kassie held up the book to allow Morpheus to see.
The man watched her with what people may have considered rapt attention. Even though his body was turned away from her his head was not; his eyes definitely were not as he watched the way her expressions would change in the forms of her nose scrunching up when she was thinking and the way the laugh lines long in disuse crinkled at the corner of her eyes that twinkled; looking far greener in the light as it shone down on her. Her hands were wildly exaggerated as she spoke about this particular volume that she held in one hand. She was beautiful in the kind of sense that she herself did not see her own value. It was clear the way she stopped speaking when she finally caught his scrutiny, seemingly turning sheepish as she realized she was rambling.
“Sorry.” she looked away and gripped her book’s edges as she stared ahead.
“I do not know many like you who are passionate about literature and history. It is rare to find someone who does in these times.” Morpheus mused as if a way to apologize for his staring when he realized he’d made her uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. I’m just not used to um…talking about what I like with many strangers.” she laughed lightly brushing away her baby strays from her eyes. “What about you? What’s your favorite author?”
“There have been many that I have known in time. Each has had their lessons in their work as well as their faults.” Morpheus replied in a way as if he was shrugging despite his shoulders not moving an inch.
“That’s cryptic.” Kassie snorted playfully as she grabbed her packet of M&M’s, tearing open the end to grab a brightly colored ball from within its packaging and popping it into her mouth. “Are you enjoying your stay here in New York?”
At Morpheus’s look of perplexity, she gave a knowing smile as she tilted her head at him. “You’re accent. It’s British right? You don’t find people like yourself in these parts of New York so I assumed you were from abroad or something.” she shrugged. “Am I right?” she held out a peanut M&M
Morpheus did not reply at first nor did he take the offered candy. Instead, his expression seemed sullen again as his eyes drifted somewhere over Kassie’s shoulder before he stubbornly looked away without a word. When Kassie went to speak a new voice spoke up from down the path making the dark-haired young woman turn her attention to a figure walking up to them.
“Are my eyes deceiving me? Are you truly taking company with someone besides your pigeons, Dream?” the woman’s voice was soft and filled with warmth; a lilt of joking mingled with her words that matched the pretty smile on her face.
The newcomer was around Kassie’s height. Beautiful with chocolate skin that glowed like dew under the warm sun and equally warm and delighted brown eyes that moved between Morpheus and Kassie. Her hair bounced with every step in tight little black ringlets framing her face and unlike most people around the park, she wore black jeans with a black tank top and black boots. The only color in her outfit was a low-hanging gold chain with a pendant hanging against her chest. When she finally stepped in front of them she’d placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head looking solely at Morpheus now and Kassie found her gaze drifting to the man himself at the same time wondering who this newcomer was. She looked familiar, like the woman she’d seen him with a week prior at this very same park. Was it a girlfriend or just a good friend? Morpheus didn’t seem like the sort to have friends. Gloomy emo boy that he seemed to be.
“I’m sorry, I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? I’m Kassie.” the woman rose to her feet and held her hand out to the pretty newcomer.
“Ah, you’re the one who met my brother out here earlier, weren’t you? It’s nice to finally meet the girl who’s gotten my brother’s attention; that’s a hard thing to do. You can call me Dee.”
It was not lost on Kassie that the woman’s presence made Morpheus sulk inwardly as he watched them from the corner of his eye. She’d also noticed Dee mentioned the siblingship between them and wondered if one of them was adopted or perhaps very good friends like siblings. Kassie smiled shaking her hand as she nodded towards Morpheus as she spoke.
“He looked like he could use a friend.” she agreed with a small smile
“I do not need friends,” Morpheus muttered from beside the females and Kassie gave him a look.
“Don’t need friends huh? You didn’t seem to mind my conversationalist skills earlier,” she stated with a raised brow
Dee watched with keen eyes much older than her appearance would hint at. Seeing the way Morpheus’s gaze glances toward the mortal at the sound of her teasing voice and those who did not know Dream as she did would have missed the glint of interest in his gaze even if his face did not change expression. To the world around them, he looked like a very unhappy individual in the company of a ray of sunshine. Said ray of sunshine leaned over to nudge one elbow against the male’s arm and said something teasing to him before her eyes turned to Dee’s.
“Right Dee?” she said causing the other to blink at her wondering what she’d just missed.
“Dream, I have some business to attend to elsewhere. I know we were supposed to um..hang out today but I cannot miss this important meeting. Will you be alright on your own?” Dee asked
That was a lie, Morpheus knew right off the bat his sister was playing at something. But he did not protest even when his gaze glared up in displeasure at her brilliant smile. “What kind of business takes you away from your time to spend with family, my dear sister?” he questioned as if challenging her.
Dee raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest watching as Kassie ate her chocolate candy while she watched the siblings as if watching some sort of drama series on the TV. There was a light of amusement in her eyes as they raced from one sibling to the next.
“Kassie, I’d hate for my brother to be lonely and have made it all this way to see me for nothing. Would you mind keeping him company? Maybe take him sightseeing around town?” Dee ignored her brother causing the male to huff under his breath; the only show of annoyance that he gave to the brush off
The girl pointed a finger at herself in surprise. “Me? I-I don’t think that Morpheus would want any more of my company right now.” she laughed a bit
“Nonesense! I’d bet you if both of us leave right now he will still be sitting here moping.” Dee replied amusement.
Morpheus seemed to have enough of the jokes at his expense because he rose to his feet. His full height towered over the pair of females a moment before giving them a stare that could send chills down one’s spine and then walking off down the sidewalk. Kassie felt a little bad, she didn’t know the dynamic of the odd siblings so for all she knew this was normal. But she knew she didn’t like jokes at her expense and Morpheus didn’t seem to either.
“Take care of him Kassie. He’s an idiot but he’s still my brother.” Dee’s hand rested kindly on the girl’s shoulder
A little laugh escaped the girl as she nodded giving Dee’s hand a understanding squeeze. It was odd to think that despite mere minutes of knowing this woman and her brother Kassie felt as if there was an understanding between them that only came from years of knowing someone.
“Yeah, course I will.” Kassie agreed as she turned her attention to find that Morpheus was standing with his hands in his pockets patiently waiting; watching from the sidelines and the idea that he was waiting for her despite his displeasure warmed Kassie’s heart.
Kassie was not one who made friends easily. Friendships were fickle things and half the time it was one using the gifts or attention of another to gain something from them. It was not always the case. Friendships could be something beautiful and last a lifetime if met by the right person. But Kassie was not one who was gifted with that blessing; so finding people who understood her was a rare feat for her in her life. Sure she’d made ‘friends’ before. People who she’d call a friend to their faces but secretly watch for the inevitable downfall of the telltale signs of deceit they would no doubt slip up. She was used to being taken advantage of and thrown away like garbage afterward. So it was clear that Kassie Sinclair did not find the thought of making friends a priority in her life; toxicity was all she knew. Just look at the man she had living with her. Corinthian was someone she’d known for almost a year but they’d met at a club that was one piece of clothing away from being called a strip club. Right off the bat, she knew Corinthian was danger on two legs. His sex appeal and charm were like a dead giveaway to the smell of money, manipulation, and threat. He was everything that Kassie didn’t need in her life but like a drug addict who knew it was bad for her, she still went in search of more because the high was all she knew.
Morpheus was someone completely different. There was something off-putting about the man, or at least in ways he wanted to seem. His lack of conversationalist skills and the way he did not allow his emotions to show on his face making it hard to read him was something Kassie was not used to. She was good at reading people; she even took pride in seeing the lies before they had the chance to fall from the tip of the tongue. But as Kassie walked beside the man through the streets at dusk; the sun slowly setting in the horizon just enough for the street lights to kick on and the warm glow of shop lights illuminating patches of concrete as you walked by Kassie could not help but feel almost as peace. There was no need to talk and there was no need to fill the air with needless words. The girl could say - if albeit a bit reluctantly - that she had enjoyed the stranger’s company a lot more than she’d have spending time with Corinthian at home.
They did not speak often to each other after Dee had left them to their own devices. No matter how much Kassie had tried to start a conversation Morpheus did not give enough to keep one going. His answers were always short and to the point, if he gave any at all. So she’d stopped trying to talk about meaningless things and instead chose to focus on the surroundings as she walked. She’d point out the little shops along the way and tell of their history. If an architectural piece came into view she’d cling to it and tell Morpheus all she knew. He’d listen. Even when he didn’t seem to be paying attention; she knew he was listening and taking in her words. Hushed and low-pitched as if too afraid to break the atmosphere as the sun sunk low. When most had already retired from a long day of relaxation to their respected homes for a good meal and some television; Kassie found herself walking leisurely beside the man in the black coat without so much as a whisper between them.
But she did not mind. For one, she’d allowed her guard to fall. To allow her mind to stop taking in details as if a threat would emerge amongst the faces they’d pass. Her mind instead replayed the moments that she’d walked in Morpheus’s presence as she’d guided him through New York. Not all the places in town were filled with bustling shops and street vendors; not the parts that she’d taken him to. But she still noticed the way people would veer around or away from him; how they would shrink if they’d crossed his path. She’d noticed how despite his efforts of attempting at being nice to people even in passing it always backfired on him and he was left with that little sliver of whatever gone from his eyes once more until he sulked alongside her in silence. She didn’t like the sulking. Not like it was a pet peeve it was just…well she just didn’t like it on him was all. So, as they’d walked damn near alone with a few handfuls of stragglers on the streets the raven-haired female couldn’t help but find herself leading the man towards a late open cafe shop. Their veranda was homely with comfortable chairs despite it being made of metal and a wooden porch with fair lights twining the poles casting a yellow glow on patrons below who happened to wish to sit outside and enjoy the view.
“Have you ever heard of this myth of who’s your person based off of color?” Kassie asked as they sat facing each other at a far table on the back of the veranda. Her fingers played with the heavy ceramic mug of coffee she’d ordered.
The first stars of night twinkled above them bleeding into darkness and the temperature had dropped a bit making it a little bit chillier now that the sun no longer warmed the day. She had not planned to be out this late and she did not have a jacket; so she was keen to wrap her hands around the heavy mug to feel the warmth bleeding into her palms.
“I do understand.” Morpheus tilted his head.
“Not many people do.” Kassie laughed quietly before looking past the fairy lights to the stars above them. “It’s relatively new. Color can represent a lot of things. Not just describing the tint of something or a person but also emotions. Common things such as black for rage or wrath, red for passion or lust, and pink for love. Yellow for happiness, dark blue for melancholy, and so forth. Like mood rings, you know? But there’s this thing that researchers just came out with that proves colors also reflect types of people in one’s life. The question of who’s your person based off of color.” Kassie explained.
“That is one of the most absurd things I have ever heard passing your lips together.” Morpheus blinked at her. She only smiled at the bluntness of his words.
“Tell me, Morpheus, when you look at me. What’s the first color that pops into your head?” she tilted her head to study him as his brows knitted together at the question.
It took him a moment before his lips finally parted allowing his answer to slip free on an exhale. “I do not know.”
A small sad smile grace her features as she shrugged. “That’s okay. When one lives in the colors of shadows and darkness people like us do not find colors very often.” she agreed as she raised the cup to her lips.
They fell back into silence for a few moments; the sound of crickets chirping in the night being the only sound besides their breathing. When she felt the heaviness on the side of her face she turned to find him watching her.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” she raised a hand to wipe away whatever it could be but Morpheus merely tipped his head at her and reached out to wipe at the corner of her mouth to wipe away the foam from her coffee.
“I can admit that perhaps humanity is not fully lost in itself if people like you exist in it.” the way he spoke made the hairs on her arms rise up and her lips twitched as if trying not to allow her smile to fall
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questioned.
He did not answer and instead rose to his feet. One hand held out to help her rise. Kassie frowned lightly as she gulped down half of her beverage before allowing her hand to slip into his. His palm was cool to the touch in comparison to the heat of her own as she’d greedily soaked it up from the mug of coffee.
“Where are we going?”
“It is at a late hour. It’s time you went home to rest.” She missed the coolness of his touch as he’d let her hand go after she’d risen and grabbed her things.
“Leaving me so soon are you Morpheus? Or should I call you Dream? That’s what your sister called you; is that a nickname of sorts?” Kassie inquired as she followed his tall back from the cafe shop and onto the streets.
“It is my name as Morpheus is. I go by many names and claim them all.” the man replied and Kassie snorted as she hugged her book to her chest.
“That doesn’t sound like someone with an ego issue at all.” she commented under her breath before her gaze rose from the concrete she’d been watched as they strolled along and instead fixated her hazel eyes on the man’s pale features.
“You’re such an odd one Morpheus, I can’t seem to figure you out. But I like that about you…been a while since I was able to find someone who didn’t lie to my face.”
The comment threw the man off as his pale eyes turned to meet her warm ones; a furrow forming between the dark slants of his brows. “You speak as if humanity has wronged you.”
Kassie snorted and threw her arms around as she skipped ahead to walk backward so that she was facing a few steps in front. “Look around you Morpheus. Humanity is nothing but a lie. Even those with good hearts and pure intentions. People get fucked over no matter what side they are on; even when we don’t deserve it and sometimes bad things happen to good people. Or punishment not dealt to those who do deserve it. Humanity as a whole is corrupted and full of flaws. But even so, we live in it and make the best of what we have even when we don’t have a lot. That’s what hope is. That’s the only thing that people who have it dream about. Because that’s all we have left; a hope for a better tomorrow, a better future, a better life.” her words came in earnest even when her lips turned into a sad smile.
“It’s just what life is. It’s a game of fates and of lies. So yeah, I’ve been wronged; perhaps in ways that are not suitable to speak of. But I’ve made it this far and I plan on continuing until life beats me down to the point where my legs no longer have the strength to try and lift me back up again.”
He’d stopped walking to stare at her and after a few paces so she did too. She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. For someone who seemed to have what she needed Kassie did not seem like a person who was happy with her life. As if she was searching for something more; even when she herself wasn’t aware of it. So the question came both as a surprise and as a request when Morpheus spoke breaking the silence.
“What do you dream of?”
Her eyes did not meet his and instead looked towards the building at which they’d stopped in front. Her apartment complex was where she could see the lamp on in one of her windows.
“This is my stop,” Kassie said and flashed him a smile before she was trotting up the steps but his call; although low-pitched carried so deeply it made her heart twinge in a soul-crushing ache of longing.
“What do you dream of, Kassie?”
She half turned to look down at him from her height on the stairs and forced a soft smile to her features despite the burn of tears that wished to threaten to spill down her cheeks. “Rest.” she finally breathed.
“I just wanted rest…to stop being forced to run from those that want to haunt me” she replied before she turned and scurried up the stone steps toward her apartment door. The click of the door shutting behind her echoed her words as she closed Morpheus out of view; leaving him standing on the sidewalk watching her closed door with a haunted look of his own.
Most of the room was dark despite one lamp in the corner of the living room. Corinthian was nowhere to be seen but as she set her book down on the living room coffee table and her shoes by the couch she saw his figure slinking through the edges of the light from the shadows. Her tired haunted eyes looked at him as he folded himself onto the sofa; lean arms opening wide in invitation. She breathed out a heavy breath and climbed onto his lap; straddling his hips and taking his face into her hands.
“Make me forget for just tonight. That’s all I ask.” her voice was soft in the stillness of the living room.
And just like an addict during a withdrawal; Kassie sunk herself into him and allowed his poison to consume her body and run through her veins. All the while just outside of the living room window a dark figure of a raven perched upon a tree branch watched with beady black eyes of haunting disapproval and sadness.
Thank you for reading chapter 3 of 'Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates'. Feel free to comment, like, and reblog! I love the interaction! Tags are open if you wish to be added for new chapter updates!
Chapter 4 >>
Tags: @lizajane2 @alpallama @kpopgirlbtssvtt @stilledimperfections
#Fanfiction: Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates#netflix sandman#the sandman fic#the sandman series#the sandman fandom#the sandman#fanfiction#fanfic#the sandman x oc#morpheus dream of the endless#morpheus dream#morpheus the sandman#morpheus#lord morpheus#morpheus x oc#morpheus x original character#dream lord#the sandman dream#dream#dream of the endless#dream x original character#original character fiction#tags open
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look who came to dinner ; a drabble
While both their daughters were leading their own lives independent of Bonnie and Dev, the Bennett-Simses always made time for weekly family gatherings. Sunday dinners had become something of a tradition since the girls both moved out. It was a day when they could all just slow down the chaos of life and spend time together as a family. Even if she did see her daughters more frequently than just once a week, Bonnie was always looking forward to it.
“The lasagna still has about 20 minutes.” Bonnie stated to Dev as she closed the oven back up and grabbed a loaf of the bakery bread off the counter. “I think I’ll make some garlic bread to go with it. Mind setting the table for me, dear? Connor and Levi are coming so we’ll need two extra spots set.”
As her husband grabbed some plates from the cupboard and went about setting the table, Bonnie busied herself cutting the bread and making the garlic mixture. “There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge too if you’ll get that out.” She tells Dev as she starts coating the bread with the garlic mixture. Letting that sit when she’s done, she washes her hands and peeks at the lasagna again when the doorbell suddenly goes off.
“That’s probably the girls.” Bonnie said as she quickly popped the bread in the oven and started heading toward the living room as Dev finished setting the table. “I’m coming!” She shouted as the doorbell went off again. Opening the door, she already had a comment ready at the tip of her tongue about how she’d given them a house key for a reason but she swallows it back when she finds it isn’t Aubrey or Haley on the other side.
“Hello, Bonnie.”
“Mom?!” Bonnie exclaims, utterly shocked to find Abby of all people at her door.
“Can I come in?”
Bonnie blinked at her, still processing some shock. She would’ve been less surprised to find someone like Kai at her front door than her own mother. Abby had abandoned her not once but twice and hadn’t heard a single word from her since. She knew the change from witch to vampire was difficult on her but that didn’t excuse the abandonment. It didn’t excuse the first time either. Clearing her throat, Bonnie straightens her back and the shock is quickly replaced by a controlled anger.
“Why are you here?” She asks, completely ignoring her request to be invited inside. Mother or not, she wasn’t about to give her a free ticket inside her home. She didn’t even know anything about her anymore and aside from a few exceptions, she didn’t much trust many vampires these days. For all she knew, Abby could have just given in to the dark side.
Crossing her arms over her chest as she awaited a response, Abby appeared to consider her words before speaking again.
“Because I wanted to see you.” She started, earning a look of disbelief from Bonnie. “And I wanted to... Make things right. The word is vampires have one last lifetime before the balance is restored and then we all turn to dust. I’ve made my peace with that but I never made my peace with you.”
“So, what? You want me to ease your guilty conscience for you and tell you it’s okay you abandoned me? Get real. It doesn’t work like that. You left, that was your choice. That’s what you always did when it got too difficult.”
“No, that’s not what I meant...”
They were interrupted as Dev suddenly came up behind Bonnie. He must have sensed the tension all the way from the kitchen as she felt his hand rest on her shoulder. A small and subtle gesture that communicated he had her back. Reaching her own hand up, she touched his to let him know it was okay.
“Dev, this is my mom, Abby,” she introduced with very little enthusiasm, “Abby, this is my husband, Dev.”
It was awkward and neither extended a hand to greet the other. Dev knew all about his mother-in-law so it wasn’t exactly one of those warm and nerve-wracking meet-the-parents moment. Abby did manage a small smile though, offering a, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Then her daughters showed up with Connor and Levi, also appearing to immediately sense the tension on the porch. Sighing, Bonnie shot a look Haley’s way because her youngest already appeared ready to pounce, before looking back to Abby. “You can come in.” There was a hint of warning to her tone though. It wasn’t a warm welcome.
Stepping aside for her mother, she received questioning looks from her daughters to which she shook her head. They’d talk later.
#( look who came to dinner ; drabble )#( special guest ; bonnie bennett sims )#( special guest ; abby bennett )#( devonnie tag ; )#( bonnie & abby tag ; )#// idk just a thing i wanted to write#bc I love the Bennett family dynamics#and kinda wanted to set up a possible redemption for Abby#bc TVD gave us like nothing with her basically lol
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SPOILERS AHEAD FOR CHAPTER 30!
That night when Zaida had gone to bed, she hadn’t been able to rest soundly at all. Whilst Stiles was fast asleep in the guest bedroom simply a wall away from her, she’d ended up tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning, unable to break her mind away from the images of him playing behind her eyes. When she’d finally succumbed to the land of unconsciousness he’d been there in her dreams too, holding her in the completely still waters of the beach as a thunderstorm raged above. The sound of his voice whispering sweet nothings was still echoing in her ears when she woke the next morning, sun streaming through half-closed shutters and drawn curtains. The substance of his words was instantly lost to her, drifting to the place where all her dreams seemed to escape to once she woke. It left her entirely unsettled.
Busying herself with getting up and ready for the day, she didn't even realise how early it was until she walked past the large clock hung on the wall next to the kitchen bench on her way to make breakfast. There was nothing much for her to do, besides work on translating the Callisto Bestiary or cooking breakfast. She decided upon the latter, diving into the fridge to see what Stiles had brought with him in his portable cooler. There was still half a packet of uncooked bacon and most of a carton of eggs from yesterday’s breakfast, as well as a loaf of sliced bread, some milk, sandwich ingredients and leftover pasta from their late dinner the night before. “Looks like bacon and eggs again,” She mumbled happily to herself and got started.
She was humming the tune to ‘Sweater Weather’ and transferring the last few fried eggs from the pan to a plate when Stiles’ footsteps thudding down the stairs set her on edge once more. She knew she was being completely and utterly ridiculous. This was Stiles Stilinski - one of her best friends and the same boy who she’d once watched eat half a jar of peanut butter with a spoon in one sitting. The same boy who regularly fell over his own feet, talked a thousand miles per minute, chewed with his mouth open, and couldn’t stay still to save his life. She’d simply been affected by the alcohol, right? But there was no rum-spiked haze when she looked at him now, and her heart faltered in her chest.
Her whole body seemed to go numb, her mind so frozen in shock that the spatula slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor noisily. “Fuck,” She cursed under her breath, but not for the reason Stiles assumed as he hurried to help her, bending to pick up the dropped utensil at the same time she did, their heads bumping together almost painfully.
“Oww, sorry,” He apologised, rubbing his head and stepping back, allowing her to put the dirty spatula in the sink. Zaida ran the tool under warm water, scrubbing at it with the sponge mindlessly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! FUCK. FUCK!
How had this happened? How was she crushing on Stiles Stilinski - her best friend - of all people? Though she supposed he had always been there for her, through all of the best and worst times of the year. He was the one who had pulled her back from her panic attacks, and protected her from danger. He was the one she could always talk to about anything and everything. This was the boy who had blown wolfsbane into a werewolf’s face for her, and who she’d solved mysteries with as if it was nothing. The same boy who always managed to make her laugh - even at the most inappropriate of times - and who had believed in her when even she herself hadn’t. The boy who let her live with him for weeks because he refused to allow her to go somewhere she was uncomfortable being. He was smart, charming, funny, loyal, goofy, geeky…everything she’d always been attracted to before. Now that she thought about it, he was completely her type. So really, how could she have not fallen for him?
“Zay, you okay?” Stiles pulled her hands away from the water gently, the contact sending electric zaps up her arm. She focused back in on reality to realise she’d been standing there scrubbing the spatula for several minutes and her hands were red raw from the temperature of the water, which she had unwittingly been heating in her stress-driven musings.
“Yeah, I’m fine…” She nodded, stepping away from him and allowing him to take over preparing their breakfast as she leaned back against the bench and watched him. All of those times that she’d felt that uncomfortable twisting in her stomach when she thought about him with Lydia, the disappointment she’d felt when she realised he’d been watching the redhead at that Lacrosse game instead of her, all the times she’d suddenly felt warm or her heart had beaten a bit faster…everything that she’d excused in the moment now all led back to the undeniable fact that somewhere along the way she’d started falling for Stiles Stilinski. Exactly when it had happened, she couldn’t pinpoint. Perhaps it wasn’t a switch that had flipped, but rather the accumulation over time of everything that they’d been through together and all the things she’d learned about him. It didn't really matter how it had happened. The reality remained that she was so totally, incredibly, unbelievably fucked.
Zaida had never been, and would never be, a morning person. When Stiles first noticed the girl acting strangely at breakfast, he’d brushed it off as being due to the early hour of the day. As the time ticked by and they finished their food and packed their things into the Jeep, heading out on the road back to Beacon Hills, her disposition still hadn’t improved. Not even when he put on her favourite R&B playlist and tried to initiate a jam session. Her mind remained entirely somewhere else and she was quieter than he’d ever known her to be, her sight transfixed out the passenger’s side window. He’d asked her multiple times now if she was okay, and he’d been met with the same answer.
“I’m fine.” She insisted when he asked for the fifth time, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes like her smiles usually did. She barely looked at him. It left him wondering if he’d done something to upset or offend her. She’d seemed completely fine when they’d separated for bed the previous night. What had changed? Had he said something offensive or insensitive and not realised? They were hours into the drive and she’d not said more than those two words to him. He might not be an expert on the female gender by any means, but even he knew that ‘I’m fine’ never meant anything good.
Zaida was so busy enraptured with her own thoughts and bubbling anxiety that she didn't even notice the boy’s inner turmoil. There was a palpable and unfamiliar tension in the air now that she was aware of her feelings towards him, and she hated how her simply knowing had already changed everything. She loved their friendship and she wouldn’t trade the bond they’d built for the world. If this new development was going to threaten that connection…she didn’t want to know. Unfortunately, in this particular scenario, she didn't have the option to choose the bliss of ignorance. All she could think about was how completely and utterly stupid she was for allowing this to happen. Stiles was obsessed with Lydia Martin - her very best friend - and had been for years. That wasn’t going to go away any time soon, if it even would at all. God, what had she gone and done?
What was she going to do now? Could she really just go back to Beacon Hills and pretend like nothing had changed when her whole world had tilted on its axis? You have to, she told herself, or you’re going to lose him completely.
When Stiles pulled up to drop her off at Lydia’s house a quarter of an hour before Xander was due to pick her up, they were both surprised to find her brother standing with his arms crossed in the girl’s driveway. Mrs Martin’s car was nowhere to be seen, and Lydia’s was parked out front, right where it had been when Xander had left her here days earlier. She instantly knew she’d been caught out and groaned in apprehension at the tongue-lashing she was guaranteed to receive. Stiles rolled down his window, slowing to a stop and waving at the man.
“Hey there, Deputy Callis.” He smiled and nodded in greeting. “We just gave Lydia a ride to the airport-”
“Save the excuse, Stiles,” Xander interjected with a stern expression. “I spoke to Mrs Martin and I know Lydia has been in Los Angeles with her father since Sunday morning. I also spoke to your dad and I know you’ve supposedly been staying at Scott’s since - wouldn’t you know it, Sunday morning. Sheriff Stilinski is waiting for you when you get home.”
“That’s just great.” Stiles muttered bitterly, fingers tapping nervously across the top of the steering wheel.
“I’ll see you around, Stiles,” Zaida stated morosely, leaning into the back seat to grab her duffel bag. “You know, when I get out of jail.”
“Bye, Zay.” He shot her a small smile and she responded in kind, trudging over to Xander’s state-issued police car.
“What gave it away?” She asked her brother when her belt was buckled and her door was closed behind her.
“My key to the beach house was missing from the evidence box hidden in the back of my closet.” He explained, and the engine roared to life. The car was on the road and heading towards the apartment within moments.
“You don’t seem nearly as mad as I expected you to be.” She frowned in confusion, noting the absence of the temper that had become the norm as of late.
“I can’t blame you for doing exactly what I did, Zay.” He sighed heavily and her head snapped towards him at the revelation. “You found our family’s Bestiary, didn’t you? In the secret room in the office?”
“I’m sorry, I’m still caught up on the fact that you’re completely fine with me and Stiles taking off behind your back.” She raised a brow at him.
“Oh, I’m not fine with it at all. That boy might be the Sheriff’s son, and I may hold Noah Stilinski in high respects, but Stiles is a bad influence on you.” Xander tutted disapprovingly. “That’s not to say I don’t understand it. If there is one thing I’ll give Stiles credit for, it’s for being there for you when I wasn’t. For that, I’m grateful.”
“You know, he’s not as troublesome as everyone makes him out to be. He just does what has to be done to protect everyone. All of us do.” She defended him.
“I might be able to accept that you’re involved, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk about it so casually.” He warned her, jaw clenching. “Needless to say, you’re grounded for the remainder of the summer.”
“What?! But you said you understood why I went?” She protested, mouth falling open in shock.
“I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me and broke multiple rules.” Xander pointed out.
“Oh, you’re really going to lecture me about lying? Seriously? Come on! All of summer? That’s like two months!” She begged him to reconsider. “I’ll miss out on so much!”
“That’s the whole point of being grounded.” He shrugged, parking out the front of their apartment block.
“When you say grounded-” She started but he knew exactly what she was going to ask.
“That means no going out and no friends coming over. None of them. No Isaac. No Stiles. No Lydia.” He listed the terms and conditions of her punishment.
“No Lydia?!” She called out, hurrying after him with her duffel bag swinging over her shoulder. “Wait, what if you just ground me for like half of the summer?”
After spending the entire climb up the winding staircase trying - and failing - to convince Xander to lessen her sentence, she skulked off to her bedroom, tossing her bag down on her bed. She was half-tempted to just leave it there - she had two whole months of nothing better to do but unpack it anyway. However, her phone charger was shoved somewhere down the bottom. With a long and heavy sigh, she unzipped the bag only to freeze when she discovered a large, cream-and-pink-coloured conch shell. It was practically perfect, and there was no way it could have gotten into her bag other than…
Stiles must have found it when she’d left him to swim at the beach and snuck it into her luggage afterwards when he’d taken their bags to the car. She was flabbergasted as she stared at it, reaching out to pick it up as tenderly as if it would shatter under her touch. The boy clearly really did listen whenever she would talk to him. The pure sweetness of the gesture made her heart squeeze in her chest so tightly she thought it might burst. How was she supposed to force herself to get over him when he randomly did thoughtful things like this? The notion struck her that this grounding could possibly work in her favour. Maybe distance was exactly what she needed to get her feelings under control.
#teenwolf fanfiction#teen wolf#teen wolf fanfic#stiles stilinski#stiles#stiles x oc#teen wolf fanfiction#lydia martin#female oc#female original character
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This was an experiment... "I didn't measure a single thing..." sourdough bread... 🤣 Even though I can't attach all of the images from the 4 days I wanted to save these posts from Facebook... because it was definitely a learning experience... And was very popular with my readers. Everyone seemed to enjoy it allot.
DAY 1...
So today when I got home from work... I realized I better feed my starters because it's been awhile and one of them had a really thick layer of hooch on top... After feeding the two of them (The only reason I have these two +1 more is because they're actually two different kinds)... Anyway... I had so much extra... but have ABSOLUTELY noooooo desire to actually bake anything with it today... Too tired from work... and I didn't want to throw it away... So what I did was... Literally started another experiment that I can bake in a couple days... I'm calling it my "I didn't measure a single thing loaf" 🤣🤣🤣 I didn't measure the starter... I didn't measure the water... and I have no clue how much flour I added I just kept adding flour till I thought it was good... I'll add a little more water and some salt in about an hour... But then throw it in the fridge... There's an enormous amount of starter in here so we shall see... Maybe it'll create a monster. And I'm quite certain this is the ONLY group I can post this in without getting completely razzed. I'll check back in a couple days with the results. 😛
DAY 1... Post 2...
Okay.... since I'm one of the most impatient persons in the world I know that I would be going crazy waiting for results... And since I wasn't quite ready for bed yet... I decided to do my stretch and folds tonight... which actually it turns out needed to be coil folds due to the hydration level. This has got to be the most hydrated dough I've ever made... But as you all know... we're never going to know exactly what the hydration level is... 😜😝🤪 I'm posting these current results... I'm actually quite pleased so far.... But now it's waaaay past my bedtime at 6:30 p.m. 🤣 So the rest is going to have to wait until tomorrow. I'm hoping it can go about 2 days before I have to cook it. Because I know I'm going to be just as tired tomorrow when I get home from work. But we shall see how it looks tomorrow. #IDidntMeasureAnythingLoaf
Day 2...
UPDATE on the "I didn't measure a single thing" loaf dough... 🤣 Day 2... The plan is to leave it in the fridge until tomorrow when I get home from work at about 3 P.M. Then I'm going to take it out... let it warm up a little bit... form it and put it in the banneton... Leave overnight on the table to rise and then bake it first thing Friday morning. I think it's looking pretty good though... 😍 It definitely did a little something something in the fridge overnight and all day. 😊👍
DAY 3.... Post 1...
UPDATE... Day 3... On the "I didn't measure a single thing" loaf... 😂 Getting closer to "D" day... I'm not quite sure I'm going to be able to wait till the morning to bake it though. I hope so cuz I really don't want to stay up late or get up in the middle of the night. Not feeling the greatest today... But I don't think it's gonna make it much longer without running out of steam...
So today... When I got home from work I took it out of the refrigerator where it's been since day one... Left it on the counter for an hour and a half and I could already see... even though it was so cold from being in the fridge... it was rising some more... Gently plopped it out on the counter... sprinkled a tiny bit of flour just to make it easier to form... I'm not one of those bakers who likes to manhandle my dough so I try not to push too much of the gasses out... GENTLY formed it up... I folded two sides... One at a time to the middle... Well a little more than the middle... Then I folded the other two sides to the middle... And twisted it around a little bit to get the tension going. Talk about bubbles... there was a lot of fat bubbles poking out the sides... 😍 Maybe too many bubbles... Not sure... I popped them... 🤣🤪🤣Maybe in this case I should have been a little more aggressive with the forming... But I really didn't want to change anything more that I normally do except for the I didn't measure anything part. Now it's just waiting in the cool dark oven... out of the way... to rise enough to be baked... I was hoping to wait till the morning but I really don't want to put it back in the refrigerator.
I can honestly say this is been pretty kool so far. 😊🧊🥶❄️😃
DAY 3... Post 2...
It's finally baked...
Woohoo... UPDATE... 🍿🍿🍿 On the "I didn't measure a single thing loaf..." Lucky day for y'all waiting in the wings... Bread is finished baking... 😍 I definitely could not have waited till the morning... It would have most definitely been over proofed...
Almost final reveal... 😍 I'm going to have to call this a success though. Even though we won't see crumb shots till tomorrow... That will be the FINAL FINAL look at the actual success... This loaf was baked starting in a COLD cast iron Dutch Oven with the lid on... starting with a COLD oven and a temperature set at 455° for the first 55 minutes... Then I take the lid off and bake for another 10 minutes still at 455°. Final temperature of the bread 208.6°...
What do you all think of that???
I'm actually really very excited that this came out soooo well.
Once I plopped it into the Dutch oven and scored the top I started having doubts because it looked like the top was sinking in a little bit in spots and it was possibly overproofed... But looking at this now... even if the texture inside isn't all 100% sourdough perfection perfect with numerous holes and all that... I don't care. 🤣 Because it looks and smells amazing.
I would say this is absolute 100% proof that making sourdough bread... Does not at all have to be so scientific and exact... One should not stress out... One should have fun and break as many rules as possible... I do. 🤣🤣🤣
Day 4... FINAL CRUMB shots...
Crumb shot... "I didn't measure a single thing" loaf... I didn't measure the starter, I didn't measure the flour, I didn't measure the water, and I didn't even really measure the amount of salt I guesstimated by pouring it in my hand... And I literally fed the starter immediately before making the dough... That was after 2 weeks in the fridge without feeding... I let the loaf sit out overnight before cutting... I'm not 100% positive... but pretty sure this is the best crumb I've achieved so far... In all my years of making sourdough. I'm definitely quite pleased with this experiment and how it came out... Thank you all for the support it was fun. 😊😍👍
Also again...
Here's the links to the original few posts for those that want the whole story... 😍👍
Day 1 Post 1... https://m.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/644412197756594/?mibextid=Nif5oz
Day 1 Post 2... https://www.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/644463387751475/?mibextid=Nif5oz
Day 2...
https://www.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/644966004367880/?mibextid=Nif5oz
Day 3... Post 1...
https://www.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/645507320980415/?mibextid=Nif5oz
Day 3... post 2...
https://m.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/645569687640845/?mibextid=Nif5oz
Day 4... Crumb shots here... 😍 https://m.facebook.com/groups/sourdoughrebelbaking/permalink/645819577615856/?mibextid=Nif5oz
NOTE: The first image is after 3.5 hours final rise after shaping... Sitting on the countertop... The second and third images is after the first 55 minutes of baking with the lid on... The remaining pictures are after it was completely finished baking...
Note for Tumblr... The images in this post are not exactly as they were in the Facebook posts... Since I'm only able to put 10 images here.
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God i fucking hate uni tell me why i walked into the kitchen after half a week of being away at home to find that somebody had taken all of my shit out of the communal fridge to make space for their own shit and just. Left all my food on the side to rot. How fucking entitled and inconsiderate do you have to be i had to throw most of it away on the spot, there was another free shelf so i was like fine fucking whatever and put what i could salvage on there instead and IT FUCKING HAPPENED AGAIN!! AN HOUR LATER I WENT BACK AND I ASSUME THE SAME PERSON HAD TAKEN IT OUT AND PUT MORE SHIT THERE LIKE YOURE SHITTING ME. Theres a second fridge thats half empty that somebody spilled milk in god knows how long ago and i havent been able to go near it bc of my contamination anxiety the thought of touching the fridge alone makes me want to peel my skin off. But now im gonna have to go out tomorrow and buy cleaning products to clear up a rancid mess i didnt fucking make thatll make my shitass anxiety even worse just so i can keep food in the shared fridge bc somebody else felt like their jar of kimchi and half loaf of bread was more important than all my fucking groceries. The only reason i dont pull all their shit out in return is the fact i have to live with these people for another five months and id rather avoid conflict but ohh my god i HATE student halls. Absolute cunts, i wanna go back home man
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Horrified || Self Para For Nathan
Nathan shifted in his sleep, moving from his side onto his back. Slowly, his eyes opened and he blinked a few times. Where was he? He looked around and vaguely recognized his surroundings. It was the condo Apollo had been able to purchase on the western most side of Elysium Island. Nathan laid there, waiting to feel Apollo’s familiar presence, but he was nowhere to be found. He sighed a sigh of relief and rubbed his face with both of his hands.
Times like this were few and far inbetween. He was unsure where Apollo went when he left Nathan’s body, he just knew that there were moments where he could, once again, take control of his own actions and not BE controlled by another entity.
He got up from the bed slowly, savoring every movement as if it were his first...or maybe his last. It was always a little slow going whenever he got to have control of his own body. He had missed the feeling of his muscles, the way he could stretch his fingers or make them into a fist. He enjoyed the feeling of his feet touching the ground and he memorized what it felt like to take each step. He knew it was temporary, that Apollo would be back soon.
He made a beeline for the kitchen. He was incredibly thirsty and his stomach was growling with intensity. Apollo didn’t tend to feel these types of things, it seemed, at least not when he was inside Nathan’s body. He neglected it, leaving Nathan in the back of his mind begging for Apollo to take care of his body. What did Apollo care? He could have any body he wanted? There wasn’t anything special about Nathan except he had an in into Maddie’s life.
He grabbed the bottle of water in the fridge and downed it in one go. He grabbed a fresh loaf of bread and shoved it into his mouth eagerly, not wasting any time. Who knew how long he would have with his own free will? He needed to take advantage of it before Apollo came back.
He wished with desperate intention that he knew where Apollo went to on the days he went away, but the other man was careful not to let him know those kinds of thoughts. Though he had no problem using Nathan’s in order to weasel into Maddie’s life. By the time he finished eating, he was breathing hard. As he stood there, he contemplated. He remembered the day he’d woken up without Apollo before, looking at Maddie with his own eyes and seeing the danger for her and their unborn child. He’d done his best to convince her he wanted nothing to do with her or the child and to his astonishment, it actually worked.
But Apollo was furious when he came back and he punished Nathan’s body. He scratched his torso and slammed his head into the wall, knowing that Nathan would feel it and Apollo would feel nothing.
As he went to the bathroom to relieve himself, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He didn’t look so much like himself, he was gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he was still beautiful, no one outside of himself would notice how different he looked to the eye. Would Maddie notice?
He looked around the condo and his gaze landed on the phone. He ran to it, eager to send some sort of warning when he realized it was password protected. He tried as hard as he could to wrack his brain, to figure out what it could possibly be, but Apollo was smart. There were moments that were stricken from his mind, almost as if they’d never been. Nathan supposed it was due to Apollo’s mind control. He felt helpless. He started to run for the door. At the very least, he could get an uber and find Maddie and Amy, warn them of what was to come. But as his hand landed on the doorknob, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. FUCK.
Without warning, Apollo’s consciousness slammed into his body, almost knocking them both to the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Apollo asked.
Nathan fumbled for a moment before lying. “I was going to find something to eat. All we had was bread...you’re not taking care of my...I mean...our body.” Would Apollo believe it.
He sighed out loudly. “Fiiiine,” he said, like a petulant child. “You better not be lying to me, or next time I will make sure you can’t move or do anything when I leave. I could handcuff you to the bed and then where would you be?” He said, laughing as he walked out and into the sunshine. God, Nathan wished he could remember what the sunshine felt like on his skin.
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𝐓𝐎: 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑
𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 14𝐭𝐡
darling,
"we ran out of orange juice this morning," you mumble drowsily. your lips brush against james' bare chest, and you feel the movement of james' arms around your body as he writes down your request on the small notepad.
you had been trying to take a nap, but james was adamant about finishing the grocery list. he had picked you up from the soft cushions of the sofa before laying down, pulling you on top of him. so now, the two of you are cuddled together, your head tucked under his chin and his forearms rest on your back, his hands holding a notepad and a pen.
james kisses the top of your head. "i think we're short on pasta," he muses, tapping the end of the pen between your shoulder blades. he tries to remember if you still have the spaghetti you like or if you also ran out of it.
he switches the pen from his right hand to his left, sneaking his now empty hand under your shirt and stroking your back. you sigh at the warmth, closing your eyes. "we need the curly ones."
james chuckles, his chest vibrating with his laughs against your heart. "fusili," he reminds you. his mother spent years trying to get him to remember the names of every basic pasta name so that he would stop looking at her in confusion whenever they went to one of those expensive restaurants when he was younger.
you shrug awkwardly. "whatever, y'know what i'm talkin' about." you kiss his shoulder, giving the broad the broad joint a soft bite. james squeezes your waist, and you give it another kiss with an amused smile. "i can make alfredo pasta tonight, if ya want."
"oh that sound good," he moans, making you huff out a laugh. "there's butter in the fridge, we'll need cream though." his hand leaves your back and you whine at the loss of touch. "shh, just a second, baby," he says quietly, focusing on writing as clearly as possible.
while he writes down a couple more things, you gently scratch the nape of his neck and a bit of his jaw, which is still covered in his weekend stubble.
"some more protein powder and bars," he mumbles to himself. "and bananas, obviously."
you poke his cheek. "don't forget my vitamins."
"already wrote it down." his lips brush against your forehead as he speaks, leaving a tingly feeling in their wake. "just the b12 or the gummies too?"
since he's stopped writing, you take your chance and wriggle around a little, adjusting your position. you move your right leg up so that it curls around james' waist, and climb up until you can hide your face on his neck. "just the b12," you whisper against his skin, kissing the underside of his jaw.
he hums appreciatively and finishes writing down the last few items: some strawberries and peaches, purple onions, chicken nuggets for when neither of you wants to cook, and a fresh loaf of bread. once he's done, he drops the notepad and pen on the floor and hugs you tightly, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes.
you stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other. enjoying the quiet and the warmth of the sun that seeps in through the living room window. james traces your spine and cups your cheek, forcing you to come out of your hiding spot and look at him.
he kisses you slowly, gently nudging your mouth open so that he can sneak his tongue in. he hums into it when your hand goes to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his curls. you pull away from him slowly, trying to cling to his mouth for as long as possible before trailing your own up to his forehead, kissing him there. you kiss the spot between his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose and peck the tip. then to the left-- you kiss his eyelid, his cheek, his chin, and repeat the motions on his right side, then down his jaw and his neck.
james melts into the sofa, his body relaxing completely and turning into a puddle with every gentle press of your lips. he's taken over by an incontrollable urge to let you know that he belongs to you; mind, body and soul. "i love you," it slips out, like always.
unlike the first time he said it, there's no nerves. no anxiety making him wonder if it was too soon, if you'll say it back or freeze up or run for the hills. now, he knows you like the back of his hand, and waits eagerly for you to utter those three words.
his heart skips a beat when you give him that tender look. his body tingles in anticipation. with a soft smile, you brush his curls away from his forehead, bringing your lips down to his once more. "i love you, too."
i’m trying a new format for my blurbs :’) or at least for the fluffy ones. idk if i like it yet or if i’ll change smth but i’ve been playing around with the letter idea in my mind for a whiiile. lmk what you think or if you have any ideas on how to make it prettier !
#james potter x reader#james potter imagine#james potter fluff#james potter x you#i can’t get a hug but at least i can daydream about being domestic with jamie <3
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