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supernovafics · 11 months

Text

𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 6.3k words

summary: in which the summer of ‘84 was both the best and worst time of your life

warnings: explicit language, underaged drinking, angst, fluff, implied smut, cheating

author’s note: second part to cardigan (but could be read out of order). i fully did not expect this to end up this long but hope y’all enjoy<33 (full “folklore” album series masterlist here!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“but i can see us lost in the memory. august slipped away into a moment in time.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

July 19, 1984

Ten.

That was how many days in a row you and Steve had seen each other.

From the first time you two talked to one another outside of Ralph’s Sandwich Shop, his first ever words to you being, “Potato chips on a sandwich? That’s kinda weird,” and the conversation that proceeded from that somehow led you to watching a movie in the theater room at his house that same night. To now this— him spending the majority of his afternoon with you at the library, where you had been working for the past year and a half.

You wondered how long the two of you would keep the streak alive.

If it was anyone else you probably would have gotten sick of seeing them that many days in a row, but with Steve you weren’t. In fact, you looked forward to whenever you got to see him again. And maybe that feeling, the anticipation toward seeing this guy who you probably shouldn’t even be seeing this often anyway, should’ve worried you.

Whenever you thought about how easily the two of you were able to go from absolutely nothing to this— an unlikely friendship that somehow felt like you’d known each other so much longer than barely two weeks— it startled you.

Before, you had simply known of him; of course, you had, he was practically royalty at your high school. “King Steve,” a charmer, a perpetual flirter, somehow dating straight-A student Nancy Wheeler. It was the combination of those things that told you during that first conversation you had with him that you should stay away from him, but for some reason, you still said yes.

Maybe it was because the home theater he had been bragging about sounded way too tempting not to take up the offer. Or maybe it was because you liked being an idiot sometimes.

If it was the latter that was true then you still were an idiot because there you were ten days later still hanging out with him and not regretting it one bit.

“I need to bring you better games here,” Steve said. He was standing across from you on the other side of the counter.

“What’s wrong with Uno? Is it because you keep losing?” You jokingly asked, a small smile on your face as you started shuffling the deck. “Also, I’m technically working right now, so I shouldn’t even be playing any games with you.”

“There’s no one here except you and me,” He said and then gestured to the quietness that surrounded you both. “Actually, I think the only other person that’s been in here all day was that old lady who just wanted directions to the park.”

You loved your job at the library and you really didn’t mind how it was rarely busy, especially during the summer, because it meant that you could spend most of your shifts reading instead of helping someone find what they needed or reshelving books. Now the majority of your non-busy moments during your shift were spent with Steve.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asked as you began dealing the cards, because what else was there to do but play another round of Uno?

“My guess is hanging out with you,” You answered. “What’s happening?”

“Party,” He stated simply, and you realized that probably should’ve been your first guess. “Need us to be beer pong partners again.”

It had been last week, two days after you and Steve unspokenly decided that hanging out with one another would become a common occurrence, when he dragged you to a party; some too big thing at Matthew Lancaster’s lake house.

A beer pong table was set up, which was not all surprising for a high school party, and you suggested that you and Steve play and be on a team with one another. You were insanely good, practically making every shot, and Steve wasn’t too bad at playing either, which made your team pretty unstoppable. It was a random hidden talent of yours that you would only show off every once in a blue moon because you deliberately didn’t frequent parties.

“I’ve retired for the time being,” You told him. “I can’t show off my beer pong skills too often or it won’t be a cool talent anymore.”

He laughed a bit at that but still nodded. “Okay, what do you wanna do tonight instead?”

“Don’t let me stop you from going to the party.”

Steve shrugged and shook his head. “Probably wouldn’t be fun without you, anyway.”

His words confused you as much as they made you feel so happy. And you quickly pushed that “happy” feeling away because you knew just how fast it could lead to feeling other things; things that would make you look like the worst person in the world.

Once again, you wondered why you were doing this. Why were you allowing yourself to get close to him when you’d probably just look like an idiot in the end? And why had he wanted to talk to you in the first place? Those fleeting questions would hit you a lot over the past few days, but you’d quickly push them away because you didn’t want to think too hard about everything. However, this time you couldn’t force them away.

“Why?” You asked, breaking eye contact with him for the first time probably that entire afternoon. “Why… are we friends right now?”

If he was surprised or confused by the randomness of your question, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you that day, so I did it,” He made the answer sound so simple. “I didn’t really expect it to turn into this friendship, but it’s nice finally having something that actually feels so easy.”

What about you and Nancy wasn’t easy?

You wanted to ask that but refrained from doing so. He probably didn’t mean her when he said that. You knew that the only reason why he was with you instead of her, and had been for the past ten days, was because she was out of town for the summer. That thought hurt a bit, knowing that you were essentially some sort of “consolation prize,” but it kept you from looking too much into things. You took everything Steve said that could be read as flirtatious with a grain of salt and forced yourself to see it as solely platonic.

And you’d rather it all be completely platonic anyway because you really liked the friendship you’d developed with him.

“You’re right. This does feel easy,” You ultimately responded, smiling at him because now that the unspoken lines were finally verbally drawn— the two of you were friends; nothing more, nothing less— you felt the tiniest bit better about it all. “But, I’m glad it does. I’m happy we’re friends.”

Steve smiled back at you. “Me too.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“you back beneath the sun. wishin’ i could write my name on it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

July 28, 1984

The only reason why you allowed Steve to bring you to this party was because you were a sucker for a bonfire.

And the only reason why you were currently drunk off your ass was because you couldn’t say no to a game of hide and seek, especially a drinking version of the childish game, which Steve had suggested and you quickly agreed to.

There was something about this game that made you realize that maybe your entire friendship was a game; a game of who would break first. But, that was something to think about at a different time. Or actually not at all, because thinking further about that would probably only complicate things.

It was easy to pretend that there was nothing more to you and him when you both were sober. It was also so much easier to lie to yourself that you didn’t feel anything romantic toward him and that you didn’t see that maybe he actually felt the same way too.

There was a constant back and forth happening in your mind, with you continuously telling yourself that being friends with Steve wasn’t a bad idea, even though maybe it was because it was slowly making you want something more. Sometimes it felt as if it made sense to like him; it felt obvious. The way you could talk to each other about anything and everything mixed with how constantly you two wanted to spend time together made you fall in so deep so fast.

But, you couldn’t accept or think about any of that, and the reasons why were painfully obvious.

However, with the alcohol currently clouding your brain, that felt like a slightly different story.

“Sitting behind a tree? Not your best hiding spot.”

Hearing Steve’s voice right then should’ve made you feel at least the tiniest bit upset because it meant that you lost that round of hide and seek, but you drunkenly smiled up at him.

“I wanted to be original and we’ve been playing for so long I feel like we’ve done everything else at this point. But, that was at least two minutes, though, right?”

“It was actually barely thirty seconds.”

“Oh, wow,” You said with a laugh as you extended a hand up toward him so that he could help you up. You wobbled a bit before getting your balance and then you grabbed the red solo cup in Steve’s free hand to drink the rest of what was left in it as your punishment for losing; the exact contents of the drink were unknown, but it tasted fruity.

When you were done, you handed the cup back to him and then leaned back against the tree because it somehow felt nice and you weren’t bothered by the roughness of it touching the parts of your skin that the tank top you were wearing didn’t cover.

There were a ton of people at the infamous “Lover’s Lake” because of the party, but nobody had been paying attention to you and Steve running around like five-year-olds playing hide and seek and getting severely drunk in the process.

The lopsided grin taking over Steve’s features let you know that he was just as inebriated as you were, maybe even more so because he’d been drinking a bit before you two started the game.

“Maybe we should be done with hide and seek now.”

You gave him a nod. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Things became quiet for a few moments with the two of you solely staring at each other in the darkness and ignoring the loud rowdiness of everyone else who was only a few feet away. Steve closed a bit of the distance between you both and leaned in close to you; his gaze flickered down to your lips for a hint of a second before going right back to your eyes.

If this was any other moment, your mind would be running a million miles a minute, screaming at you to not allow the inevitable to happen. But, somehow, you were actually calm.

“We can’t do that, friend,” You told him, making your voice sound as serious as possible, but you couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“I know,” He responded but still shut the final space of distance between you both, bypassing your lips and kissing your cheek instead. “That’s okay, though, right?”

The reasonable side of you was obviously telling you to say “no,” but it was hard to make yourself care enough to listen to it. “I’ll allow it.”

The three words came out so quietly, but Steve heard you. He kissed your other cheek and then your forehead and then your nose before pulling away and smiling at you.

Before he could say anything, you did the same to him; kissing both of his cheeks, his forehead, and his nose, and then pulling back to lean against the tree again. That time it was your eyes that glanced down at his lips before going back to his eyes.

You were so close to doing it, and he almost begged you to, but then you were pushing off of the tree and asking him to turn around.

“Piggyback ride to the car, please?”

“We can’t drive right now,” He said as he leaned down a bit so you could hop onto his back.

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “I know, but I will die if I don’t sit down.”

The walk to your car should’ve taken less than a minute, but instead, it nearly took five because, of course, the two of you got a little lost and it took way too long to realize that the first car you had walked past was yours.

“God, we’re acting like such idiots right now,” You said, laughing as Steve let you down so you could get into the car.

He laughed too as he got in on the passenger side. “Yeah, definitely not our finest moment.”

You sighed in contentment when you leaned back against the seat, immediately finding comfort in it, which definitely said a lot about how drunk and exhausted you were because you never usually found your car as super comfortable.

You turned on your side to face Steve, and as if feeling your gaze on him, he turned to look at you as well. You silently admired each other. Sometimes it felt as if a thousand things were being said in the silences you two shared with one another, things that would probably always be left unsaid.

“I really like you,” He whispered suddenly and you realized that maybe not everything silently said would be left unspoken.

You let out a small breath before closing your eyes because it felt too hard to look at him right then. “I really like you too.”

“Please let me kiss you.”

It was difficult to describe exactly what his words managed to do to you, and you tried your hardest to disregard those feelings.

“We can’t.” You shook your head, eyes still shut. “It’ll ruin everything.”

“What if that’s okay?” He said, voice still quiet.

It could’ve been easy.

To finally do what you both had desperately wanted to do for weeks at this point, but had refused to admit. And doing it at this moment instead of any other time because, with the drunken states you both were in, none of this would be remembered. Which would also mean that it didn’t really happen, right?

Your eyes finally opened and you looked at him. “Neither of us is gonna remember this conversation in the morning.”

“You’re probably right.”

“And if you did, you’d regret saying any of this,” You said, and your words were met with silence from him. You couldn’t tell if that meant that they were the truth, or instead, quite far from it.

Even in your inebriated state, you were too scared to push him further and get an answer because you were unsure which response would be worse; “Yes, I’d regret it,” or “No, I wouldn’t regret it at all.”

Before he could potentially say a version of either of those responses, you began speaking again. “I’m really tired.”

You then pulled your eyes away from him and looked straight ahead at the people that were still partying around the fire. A part of you wanted to join them, but the other part of you just wanted to fall asleep.

“Me too,” Steve said and with how long he had been quiet, you were actually surprised to hear his voice right then.

Both of you fell asleep just like that for the time being, putting an end to a conversation that would not be talked about in the morning because just as you’d both assumed, it seemed as if it had been long forgotten.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“salt air, and the rust on your door. i never needed anything more. whispers of ‘are you sure?’ ‘never have i ever before.’”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

July 31, 1984

The sun had long ago set behind the trees, but you and Steve still had no plans to leave his pool anytime soon.

You swam close to him, your hands finding his shoulders and then pushing down to dunk him under the water. A laugh fell from your lips as you immediately started swimming away, but Steve’s hand quickly found your waist and pulled you back toward him.

“What was that for?” He asked, one arm still wrapped around you, causing your back to be firmly pressed against his chest, while his other hand pushed back his wet hair.

“For pushing me in the pool earlier,” You answered, only trying for a moment to wriggle out of his grasp but failing miserably so you stopped.

“That was hours ago.”

“Revenge is best when you don’t see it coming,” You said, smiling widely.

He laughed against your ear. “You’re evil.”

You attempted to pull away again but he was still holding on to you, so instead you maneuvered so you were simply facing him instead.

You were smiling up at him, and you assumed he’d match it with a smile of his own, but he didn’t. Instead, there was a certain look on his face that you couldn’t necessarily decipher. You almost asked him what was wrong, but he started speaking before you got the chance to.

“I remember the conversation we had in your car at the bonfire.”

You could feel your heart start to race a bit, not expecting things to take that turn. “Oh… You do?”

He nodded his head. “Do you?”

“I remember the whole thing,” You told him, and that was entirely true. You’d spent the past few days constantly thinking about that moment and running through every single thing that was said. You had also tried your hardest to push the memory away because it seemed as if Steve didn’t remember it.

“I don’t regret anything I said,” He told you and then a hand came up to cup your cheek. “I still really wanna kiss you.”

You were quiet for a moment, letting Steve’s words settle over you, before responding to him in a small voice. “Are you sure?”

Instead of verbally responding, he gave you the smallest of nods and closed the tiny bit of space between you both, dipping his head down and slotting his lips against yours.

All you could think at that moment was finally.

Finally, you were this close to one another.

Finally, you were kissing.

Finally, you were doing what you had wanted to do for so long.

The thing that both of you told each other and even convinced yourselves wasn’t going to happen, finally happened. And in a way, it sucked because neither of you felt bad about it, at least not bad enough to stop.

Your legs wrapped around his waist beneath the water and your arms came up to wrap around his neck, one hand finding its way into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You weren’t in the deepest part of the pool anymore so Steve was able to stand, but both of you were still almost completely submerged in the water. He walked you both over to one of the sides of the pool, pressing you back against it and deepening the kiss.

Nothing was said, and nothing needed to be said. In fact, you thought that if either of you said something, it would ruin the perfection that was that moment and harshly shove you both back to reality. A reality that told you that this was the farthest thing that should have been happening.

For the time being, with Steve against you and his lips finding that particularly sensitive part of your neck, you were happy living in this fantasy world. It was a dream that you didn’t want to wake up from, and you convinced yourself that it wouldn’t hurt too bad when you did finally have to wake up from it.

“We should…” You took a breath, biting back the moan that threatened to spill from your lips as Steve continued the assault on your neck. Your next word should’ve been “stop,” but stopping this was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. “We should go to your room.”

He finally, and sadly, pulled away from your neck and pressed a quick kiss against your lips. “That sounds like a great idea.”

You detached yourselves from one another just enough to step out of the pool and into his house, wet bodies leaving drops of water across the floor that weren’t the slightest bit cared about.

You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

After getting as close as you just had been, it was hard to go back to how it used to be; the friendliness and innocence that had surrounded the brief touches you two would usually share. Instead, your hand was intertwined with his as he led you up the stairs, and then his arms circled around you when you entered his room, cocooning you in the towel he’d grabbed from behind his door.

It was you that kissed him that second time.

You reached up to push his wet hair back and then leaned in, inwardly sighing in contentment. Both of his hands found your waist, causing the towel to fall and it was immediately long forgotten.

When you pulled away you took the smallest step back and simply looked at him, his pretty face and soft brown eyes that were full of nothing but adoration for you. You tried your hardest to find something within you that resembled regret or made you want to stop this, but you couldn’t. And you knew exactly what that said about you, but it was also difficult to force yourself to care about that either.

Steve eagerly brought you close to him again, which made you smile into the kiss he pulled you into. He slowly started leading you back toward his bed.

“Wait,” You said, detaching your lips from his and softly pushing him back a bit. “It would be really rude of me to lay on your bed with my bathing suit on.”

He slowly nodded and swallowed harshly as you removed your top first, letting that fall to the floor, and then going to your bottoms. “That’s very considerate of you.”

You only smiled at him and his sudden nervousness, which managed to wash away any and all of your own shyness at that moment.

His eyes met yours. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” You whispered, reaching out to grab his hands and pull him close to you again. You were about to kiss him again, but it was then that you noticed the time on the clock that was hanging on the wall behind him. “Shit, shit.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a look of concern crossed his face. “What’s wrong?”

“The time,” You answered and then sighed as you started grabbing your bathing suit. “It’s 12:40, and if I’m not home by one, my mom will kill me and then you.”

“Your mom loves me too much to kill me,” Steve responded, grabbing a t-shirt for you to slip on too.

“Yeah, kinda weird how after only one meeting where you two barely even talked, she somehow likes you more than me now,” You said as you put on his shirt which kind of swallowed you whole but you loved it and already knew that you would never be giving it back to him.

You looked up at him and your next words came out quietly. “I’m sorry I have to ruin this right now.”

Steve shook his head at you. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry.” Both of his hands found your hips again, squeezing softly. “We’ll pick up where we left off next time.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Next time?”

“Mhm, next time,” He said, smiling back at you and nodding. “If you want there to be one?”

“I’d like that,” You responded and pressed a quick kiss against his lips.

Even as you headed back downstairs and Steve walked you to your car, kissing you for a few more minutes before you reluctantly drove away, your stomach had yet to fill with even a hint of regret or guilt.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“wanting was enough. for me, it was enough. to live for the hope of it all.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

August 12, 1984

The constant sound of something softly pinging against your window pulled your attention away from the book you were reading in your bed.

There was only one person that could've been throwing something at your window, but still, you were the tiniest bit surprised when you opened your curtains and saw Steve standing on your front lawn.

Even though seeing him was such a natural thing at this point, it made sense that you were at least a little surprised because no part of you felt secure with this “thing” you had going on with him, which was more than just a friendship but so much less than any type of actual relationship. You lived in the perpetual state that it would all abruptly end. And maybe that thought process came from you knowing that eventually, this would all have to come to an end; there weren’t that many days of summer left.

But then there was that tiny slither of hope that maybe it all wouldn’t have to end. You kept that thought buried deep down inside of you, though.

You lifted your window. “Throwing rocks at my window? That’s very rom-com of you.”

“Sometimes I like to be cheesy,” Steve said, smiling at you.

It was a sweet, adoring smile that you shouldn’t have been on the receiving end of; it was a smile that didn’t belong to you. It was so easy to see that, but it was nearly impossible to actually do something about it and let him go.

“Can I come up?” He asked. “I promise I’ll be quiet and your mom won’t hear me.”

“She’s gone for the weekend, actually,” You told him, smiling a bit. “I’ll be down in a second.”

When you opened the front door, he was quick to greet you with a kiss before pulling you in for a hug.

After that first kiss in his pool, there was an almost immediate shift that happened. An easy shift where you’d gone from constantly telling yourselves that everything was solely platonic to finally allowing yourselves to do every little thing that deep down you both had always wanted to do. With him now always greeting you with soft kisses, and you secretly spending so many nights in his bed because his parents were never home and most of the time it was easy to make up some sort of excuse to your mom.

Something else shifted too, though. It was a shift that neither of you spoke about because you never really wanted to acknowledge what exactly your friendship had transformed into and what it really meant. Not talking about any of it was a decision that you were unsure if it was completely yours or his because it was all so unspoken.

When you thought about it hard enough though, you could see that the decision was mutual, because on both sides it was easier to pretend that none of the outside things existed. In that fairytale, he didn’t have a girlfriend, he didn’t belong to anyone else. You were his and he was solely yours.

“Tell me about this thing that your parents forced you to go to tonight,” You said as Steve kicked off his shoes by the front door and the two of you started heading up the stairs. One of his hands was intertwined with yours and there was barely an inch of space between you both. It had become really hard not to be close to one another.

“It was this big event for my dad’s job, and they always drag me to stuff like that as a way to prove to his coworkers that they’re ‘good parents.’ It was very boring,” Steve responded with a small sigh and then gave your hand a light squeeze. “It would’ve been much less painful if you came.”

He sat down on the foot of your bed when the two of you walked into your room, and the oversized t-shirt you had on as your pajamas rode up a lot as you settled yourself in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs and hands resting on his shoulders. It was an un-innocent position that, for the time being, felt quite the opposite.

“Going to something like that is something a girlfriend would do, not…” That was the first time you’d even minorly referred to Nancy, and it felt both weird and wrong. It woke you up for a second and made you falter a bit in your next words, breaking Steve’s gaze. “Not a… friend.”

One of his hands found the side of your thigh, rubbing the skin softly and trying to pull you back into this moment with him. You could feel him reading you so easily and knowing where your mind was going, and he didn’t want you to go there, and neither did you.

You didn’t want this– you and him, him and you– to break just yet.

“Um, anyway, you didn’t tell me that it would be so formal,” You said, gesturing with your head to the suit he was wearing.

Your eyes met his again and you could see the relief wash over his face because you didn’t bring up the unspoken topic. Things shifted right back to normal. Well, the normal that you two created for yourselves.

“I feel kinda ridiculous, and I hate this bow tie,” He responded, hand continuing to rub your thigh. “I should’ve probably changed before I came here but I just really wanted to see you.”

You let his words further push away any thoughts of Nancy that lingered in your mind, thoughts that finally told you that what you were doing with him was wrong.

“Stop. You look good,” You told him, your fingers playing with the bow tie for a brief moment. “Like, really good.”

“Okay, now I’m really glad that I didn’t change, then.” He smiled before leaning in to kiss you.

You only deepened the kiss in response and focused on nothing but the feeling of his mouth on yours and his hands beginning to snake underneath your shirt.

He pulled back, maneuvering things so you were sitting at the foot of the bed and he was standing. The black suit jacket he had on was the first thing to fall on the floor. You slipped your t-shirt over your head and tossed it to the side before helping him unbutton the long sleeve white shirt he had on.

His hands found your bare waist and squeezed softly. “I’m so fucking happy I’m here right now.”

“Me too,” You responded and then sighed in contentment, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment, when you felt his thumb graze over your already hard nipple.

Sometimes, usually in moments like these, it felt as if it was your sole purpose to be with him; canceling your plans just in case he’d call or show up, and meeting solely at his place, or yours, or the library.

How deeply intertwined you felt with him let you know exactly how much it would hurt when this all came to its eventual end. But then you were hit with the thought that maybe you would deserve it because you put yourself in this situation.

Steve’s hand came up to gently stroke your cheek and pull you out of your thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

Your gaze met his as you shook your head. “Nothing important.”

But, maybe it was the most important thing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i remember thinkin' i had you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

August 23, 1984

You expected to see him that night.

So maybe him unexpectedly showing up to the library– which was now busy with a bunch of kids scrambling to do their summer reading assignments– was what should have told you that everything was about to go to shit.

“Hey,” You said to him and placed the book in your hand in its rightful place on the shelf and then did the same thing with the other one you were holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tonight.”

Steve was quiet for a few moments too long, which made you look at him, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you saw the look on his face. It was hard to exactly decipher his expression because it looked as if he was experiencing a thousand different emotions at once.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, voice quiet.

“I got a call from Nancy,” He told you, and you nearly flinched at hearing him saying her name to you for the first time ever. “She said she’s coming back tonight.”

“Oh…” Was the first thing that fell from your lips. It was the word that perfectly encompassed your initial shock at that moment. “That’s, um– That’s really, uh…” You almost said “great,” because if the circumstances were different and if things were actually normal between you two, it probably would’ve been great that his girlfriend was coming back after being gone for almost two months. But, things were far from normal and the circumstances weren’t different at all, so you were at a loss for words.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, but what was really probably only seconds, you said something. “I really don’t know what to say to that, honestly.”

“I’m sorry,” He said softly and pulled his eyes away from you. He looked down and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I guess we, uh, both know what that means.”

“Say it, Steve.” You muttered. You had to hear him say the words in order for it all to be real for you. You couldn’t take all of the unspoken, reading-between-the-lines bullshit.

He was quiet for an unbearable amount of time before he finally spoke. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

From the second he kissed you in his pool nearly a month ago, you knew that those words would ultimately come. Each happy day that passed with you tangled up in his bedsheets or cuddled up on his couch laughing about nothing was leading to this moment.

It had all been so inevitable, but it still hurt harder than you had expected it to. You quickly decided to pretend as if it didn’t, though.

You nodded at him. “Okay. Got it.”

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t– I didn’t–”

“Don’t,” You quickly shook your head, not at all wanting to hear whatever pitying thing he would say to you at that moment. “Please don’t.”

You were suddenly glad that you were at work right then because you could distract yourself from thoughts of him and everything that had just ended with the current busyness of the library. You looked away from Steve and noticed a little girl struggling to grab a book that was high on a shelf.

“It’s really chaotic here right now, and I have to actually do work for the first time probably all summer, so yeah…” You forced a small smile and then walked away from him, ignoring the words he said to you that you barely heard and couldn’t make out.

Over the next two final hours of your shift, you’d silently accepted that that brief conversation would be the last time you talked to Steve Harrington. Although there were a thousand more things that probably could’ve been said, it was okay. That ending was okay. Or at least in the long run, it would be.

So it slightly startled you when you saw him in the parking lot, leaning against the side of his car. When he noticed you, he waved.

“Have you been here this whole time?” You asked, walking toward him, but leaving a wide space of distance between you two.

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…”

For the first time probably ever, he confused you.

“I just— I wish things could be different,” He ultimately said, and hearing those words simultaneously made you feel happy while also making you feel so fucking upset.

“Things can be different,” You told him as you stepped toward him, the tiniest glimmer of hope inadvertently beginning to swirl in your stomach. “We could be together.”

Your hands found his, slowly intertwining them. His gaze met yours and you let the silent conversation play out. Your eyes pleading with him to not let go of what you two had, and him looking at you so softly while also battling whatever else was going on in his mind. After a few moments, he gave your hands a quick squeeze before he let go of them.

“I love Nancy.”

Not you. Those were the words he didn’t say, but you could read between those lines a little too easily.

“I love you” was the one thing you hadn’t said to one another, but you thought that you could feel how much he loved you through each soft touch, every longing look, every plea for you to stay in his bed for just a minute longer; one minute that always turned into at least five.

Apparently, you were wrong, though.

And now you knew for certain that you were wrong about every single thing that happened that summer.

Because you knew that you felt that way toward him. You loved him.

But he didn’t love you. He didn’t want to be with you.

He loved her.

His girlfriend— the only girl he was supposed to love.

You let the feeling of regret and guilt toward everything that happened this summer crash over you like a tsunami.

“I should’ve never done this,” You said, whispering that more to yourself, than to him.

“What?” He asked, unsure of what you’d just said.

“You love her.” You said as you moved away from him. “Go be with her.”

“I’m really sorry,” You heard him say as you walked toward your car.

You didn’t say anything in response to that. Mainly because there was nothing to say, but also because you refused to talk to him any longer. And quite frankly, you never wanted to talk to him again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“so much for summer love and saying ‘us.’ ‘cause you weren't mine to lose.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(read “betty” here!)

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things series #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Text

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage

Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #yandere aemond

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 1 year

Text

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 2

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: You have this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of Steve's chest with words alone.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick (among other scarier pregnancy symptoms), language

Word Count: 3614

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Rain slammed against the window panes of the Harrington house like bullets. The cold seeped through the walls and ate straight through Steve’s pajamas, and the cup of coffee in his hands was doing little to remedy it. There was zero hint of sun in the sky, it seemed like there would be none all day, and Steve was really regretting coming out from under his covers.

Steve had only slept in his own house three times over the past two weeks; he’d made quite the home for himself on your couch, living out of a backpack of clothes he’d stuck in the corner of your living room. You had asked him not to leave you alone, and what kind of man would he be if he had said no to that? He probably wouldn’t even have been able to, anyway.

He didn’t know if he would be allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and he had been too afraid to ask.

While his father never really bothered to care where his son was, and his mother trusted him enough to let him do his own thing most of the time, he was still expected to show his face at home every once in a while. He’d been stuck with the closing shift last night (even though it was outside of his availability, so thanks for that, Keith), and he knew you’d be fast asleep by the time he made it back to your apartment. You’d called the store after you got home at the much more reasonable hour of six thirty. ‘I think I can live with being alone for tonight’ you’d told him. ‘I’ve got a paper to write, anyway.’

Fuck, Steve really needed a better job. Preferably one that paid him more and wasn’t open until eleven p.m. on a Thursday night.

You worked a big girl job at the Roane County Historical Society museum. You were just a secretary, but you had a salary, insurance, and all that other grown up stuff. Nine to five, four days a week, and they helped with your college tuition, too. Come May, you’d have a History degree and a teaching certification, and word on the street said Hawkins Middle was about to have a need for a new History teacher. Unlike him, you had the perfect five year plan laid out right in front of you.

Y’know, as long as Steve hadn’t ruined it for you.

By the time he woke up on Friday, his father was long gone. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and the big empty house felt extra big and extra empty today. Steve glanced out the window as he poured a second cup of coffee and saw the rain collecting in the bottom of the long-since drained pool in his backyard. A handful of stray leaves sat mixed with the rainwater, some stuck in a brown mass on the bottom, some floating lazily atop the puddle.

He was startled out of his trance by his mother’s voice and nearly dropped his full mug.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, heels clicking along the tiles. “Or, good afternoon, rather.”

Meredith Harrington was the opposite of her husband in more ways than anyone could count. She actually enjoyed spending time with her child, for one, but there had never been an angry bone in her body. She wasn’t immune to frustration, or worry, but it was never unfounded. Yet still, for every wild flame of rage that shot from her husband's mouth, she counteracted with calmness. Or, more accurately, quiet, fearful resignation. Her husband never put his hands on her or their son, but Steve could always tell that she had spent her whole marriage walking on eggshells, waiting for the terrifying moment that he did, as if it was a simple inevitability.

Steve loved his mom, but fuck, he wished she would just stand up for herself for once.

“God, Mom, you scared me,” Steve responded, leaning against the counter.

“I do live here, too, y’know,” she poked back with a smile. “When did you get so jumpy?”

If she ever found out the real answer to that question, she would probably never let her son out of her sight ever again.

“Haven’t seen much of you these last couple weeks,” his mother observed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he insisted. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. She put the pocketbook she was holding down on the marble countertop of the island and crossed the room to lean against it, opposite her son. “I can tell, there’s far too much going on in that big head of your’s.”

Steve snorted at the well meaning insult.

“It’s nothing mom, I promise.”

“Come on now, you know I don’t buy that,” his mother asked with arms crossed. “Talk to me, kid.”

“I-I don’t know.” Steve was absolutely, in no way, ready to talk about any of what was going through his head, especially to his mom. ‘You might be a grandma come September’ wasn’t really something he could just drop in the middle of casual conversation.

“Is it a girl, maybe?”

Steve’s quiet was proof enough that his mother was, at least partially, right. She gave her son a knowing smile.

“Tell me it’s not Nancy again, right?” she asked. Meredith was generally a pretty forgiving woman, but Nancy had really broken her son’s heart. So, while she would always show nothing but kindness to the eldest of the Wheeler children, she didn’t have to like her.

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” Steve assured. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago.”

“Good,” she replied. “Will I ever get to meet this mystery girl?”

Steve just shrugged, deciding it best to omit the fact that the “mystery girl” had lived across the street for eighteen years and swam in their pool every summer for a decade.

“You should invite her over for dinner some time,” his mother said. She leaned forward and pulled a piece of errant lint off of Steve’s shoulder with perfectly manicured nails. “I’ll roast a chicken. It’ll be nice.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken?” she parroted back. “What kind of person doesn’t eat chicken?”

“She’s a vegetarian, mom,” he explained.

“Ah,” his mom accepted. “Then I’ll make that broccoli cheddar casserole you like. You know, the one I make during Lent every year? Think she’d like that?”

“Yeah, I think she would.” Steve was trying his best to hide his smile, though he wasn’t doing it all that well.

“Alrighty.” She patted her son’s shoulder as she walked past him and gathered her purse. “Well, I have to go run some errands. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.”

“Right. You’re much too cool to tag along with mom to the grocery store. How could I have forgotten?”

“No! No, it’s not that, I-”

“I’m joking, Steve,” she assured with a smile. “Make sure that cup ends up in the dishwasher, okay? Not just in the sink.”

“Dishwasher. Got it.”

“I love you! Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!”

With that, the heavy front door shut and Steve was plunged into the silence of deserted suburbia.

You were at work, he had the day off with no plans, and the idea of being at all productive sounded absolutely exhausting. He finished his coffee in two big gulps and decided the best way to spend the day would be to crawl right back into bed and wallow in his feelings.

Steve had, very much on purpose, kept most of his thoughts about your current situation to himself. Partially because every time you two did start talking about it, you ended up a slushy pile of tears in his arms. The other reason, though, the bigger reason, was that he was terrified that you would put all of your own wants and wishes to the side and do whatever he wanted you to. The concept of you having a baby you didn’t want just to appease him made him sick to his stomach.

His parents only got married because his mom ended up pregnant at nineteen, and having a baby out of wedlock in 1967 was a social sin of the highest order. So they planned a wedding in two weeks time (a small family affair, exclusively to save face and avoid the questions that arise with courthouse ceremonies), and moved into a big, fancy house so that everyone knew the Harringtons were a normal, run-of-the-mill, perfect American family. His father loved to point out all of the things he didn’t get to do all because Steve came along and got in the way, and his mother. . .

She loved him. He knew that. He also knew that she had to pack up her life to play house with a man she was always a little bit afraid of, all because of him. His father always resented him for it, but his mom never did. At the very least, she never told him she did.

The thought of doing to you what his father did to his mom absolutely fucking terrified him, but ‘terrified’ had been his baseline state of being pretty much constantly over the past two weeks.

Steve was no stranger to fear. He’d had extensive experience with the feeling; that sharp heaviness that settled itself behind his ribs and sucked every drop of oxygen out of his lungs. When it came at him hard and fast, that was when he could handle it best. This was not that. This fear was slow and achy, all-encompassing. It sealed itself onto his bones, like some sort of emotional slime. Like a fungus.

And, honestly, most of that fear was for you, not him. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he could end up being a shitty father, and while he would hate that more than pretty much anything in the entire world, it did sort of pale in comparison to your worst case scenario. You could die.

Yeah, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic, but you still could. It wasn’t all that far outside of the realm of possibility. You were already horribly sick, you had been for the past few weeks, and while you had been taking the constant nausea and incessant dizzy spells like a fuckin’ champ, it wasn’t like a positive attitude would be able to save you if you started hemorrhaging.

Steve really hoped, for your sake, that you had yet to go down this train of thought, but he knew you most likely had. As terrified for you as he was, he understood that you were probably feeling all of it tenfold.

And yet, behind all of that, he was having a very difficult time squashing that tiny inkling of reckless hope that had been planted in the back of his head. He was still a 21 year old dick-head who had zero business taking care of a baby, and he definitely wasn’t allowed to be excited about it. For, like, a million different reasons.

Eventually, he fell back into a heavy-limbed sleep, but was woken up however many hours later by the shrill ring of the phone. A bleary eyed glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it was just passed six o’clock. His mother should be back by now, right? He let it ring.

A moment passed, and it rang once more. He debated for a moment if he even had the right to answer it anymore, but he begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed and picked it up anyway.

“Harrington Residence,” he grumbled, hoping whoever was on the other side could tell how frustrated he was to be awake.

“Steve?” Your voice came through the line. It was strained, and he heard you trying your best to disguise the sobs coming from your throat. “It’s me.”

“Hey, woah, what’s going on? What happened?” he questioned, any annoyance gone.

“Are you able to come pick me up?” you stuttered out between sniffles. “I’m at work. I-I have a flat tire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I can,” he said.

“Okay.”

“I’m on my way, alright? Five minutes, tops,” he told you. He had the earpiece of the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, and the cord was stretched as far as it could go to reach into his bedroom as he haphazardly swapped his flannel pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans.

“Thank you.” Another sob.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he insisted. “Hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

The rain had slowed back to a dismal drizzle that splashed into the puddles stretched across Steve’s driveway. The drive to the museum was usually short, but the evening rush (as if the barely-there Hawkins traffic could ever be called that) slowed him down just enough for it to be annoying. The museum had officially closed an hour ago, though stray patrons and evening administrative duties usually kept you back after hours.

Steve saw you shivering underneath the awning that hung over the front doors, comparable to a lost kitten stuck in a thunderstorm. The shoulders of your sweater were soaked through, and as Steve pulled into the parking lot and stopped his car, he could see the angry black rivers of runny mascara that dribbled down your face.

“What the hell are you doing waiting for me out here in the rain?” Steve asked as he jogged up to where you were standing. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Why aren’t you inside? It’s freezing.”

“That creepy research assistant is in there and I hate being in the same room as him when there’s nobody else around,” you choked out, syllables broken up by wracking sobs.

“Alec?” Steve asked, and you nodded. He pulled you tightly against him before adding, “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

“Please don’t do that,” you squeaked.

“Let’s change your tire, huh?” Steve said, though he made no move to let you go. “Do you have the spare?”

“That-” your words were cut off by a pitiful sniffle. “That is the spare.”

“Of course it is,” Steve sighed, though he most certainly should not have, because it just spurred on more crying from you. “Hey, it’s alright. I can take you home and we can get a new tire on it in the morning, okay?”

“I just had a really bad day,” you wept into his shoulder.

“I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“I spilled the hottest tea in the universe all over my legs,” you croaked. Steve winced at the image.

“I’m sorry,” he said into the top of your head.

“And since it was so hot, I accidentally said ‘motherfucker’ in front of a tour group that consisted exclusively of second graders!” you added. Steve would have laughed at that if you weren’t so wildly upset. “And Creepy Alec was being creepy all day long-”

“My offer still stands.”

“And then I came out here and my fucking tire was fucking flat!” you exclaimed, punctuated by another bout of wailing, the kind that made your whole body shake and your voice stutter. Steve took it the best he could, petting the back of your head and holding you tight, wishing he could go into your brain and dig all of the bad bits out.

“Let me get you home, and we can get you into some dry clothes and deal with your car in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimpered.

Steve let you go, but when he went to pull you along to his car so the pair of you could leave, you stayed planted right where you were. You lifted your watery eyes to meet his, and he gazed at you from where he stood.

“Steve?” you quietly asked him.

“Yeah?” Steve responded. A silence fell between the two of you, though the lazy rain and evening downtown traffic poked holes through it.

“I wanna keep the baby.”

You had this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of his chest with only words alone.

“That-” came out of fucking nowhere, holy shit!, he didn’t add. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you muttered over a wobbly lip.

Steve was paralyzed. The soles of his shoes had been superglued to the pavement and his arms had been turned to stone. It was somehow both exactly what he did and did not want to hear all at the same time, because deep down in his gut he knew he wanted that too, but there was a laundry list of reasons why it was a bad idea, why it was irresponsible, why it was maybe everything he ever wanted, and-

“Steve, if you don’t want to do this, that's okay, but I need you to tell me. Now.” Your voice, shaky and full of fear and yet so, so determined, pulled him up and away from his thoughts once again.

“I do!” he exclaimed, maybe with a bit too much fervor. He regained his ability to move and closed the gap between the two of you in one wide step. “I do.”

You stood silent with your glassy eyes staring bullets into his.

“Look, I’m gonna start talking, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop, so if it gets to be too much, just shut me up, okay?” Steve said. He brought his hands up to grace your shoulders.

“What?” you questioned, confusion laced throughout your miserable expression.

Steve had spent the last three and a half years doing everything he could to drown out the sounds of his feelings for you, and Robin was right. It was destroying his brain.

“I’m really, really in love with you,” he said. “And I have been for a really, really long time. Since way before this, fuck, since before Starcourt, and I’m so fucking sorry for not having the guts to say it until now. I’m the universe’s biggest coward for that-”

“You are not a coward!”

“-And I know you deserve better, but for some reason that still eludes me, you’ve stuck with me through all the bullshit, anyway. You could’ve run away whenever you wanted to, you could’ve gone with your parents when they left, but you didn’t, and that has to mean something, right?”

“Steve,” you wept.

“I promise, there is nothing in this world that I want more than to do this with you, alright? Not a single fucking thing,” he assured you. “I meant what I said. Holding your hand the whole time.”

Steve took your trembling hand into his own, fingers fitting together like lock and key.

“If you’ll have me,” he added.

Your lips wobbled, you let out another shattered sob, and you kissed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Like you would drop dead right on the spot if not for his lips on yours. Steve kissed back, because he knew he would drop dead if he didn’t, and now he had tears to match your own.

“I’m really, really in love with you, too,” you blubbered after the pair of you pulled apart. You had a hand on either side of his face, fingers ghosting over the junction of his jawline and neck, and Steve had his wrapped delicately around each wrist.

“You really wanna do this?” Steve asked you. “You really mean it? You’re not just saying it?”

“I really mean it,” you said definitively. You were still very much crying, though you were infinitely less miserable than you had been five minutes ago. The pair of you stayed swaying in each other's arms, protecting each other from the cold.

“Good, because I really mean it, too,” he responded.

The thick, foggy haze of emotion was beginning to dwindle, and despite the warm bubble of affection the two of you had created, you were still standing out in the rain. And Steve was pretty sure he could see Creepy Alec spying on them through one of the second story windows.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you dinner,” Steve murmured to you, and you nodded in agreement.

Steve drove you both back to your apartment and made a feast of plain scrambled eggs and buttered toast, because it was all your stomach could really handle right now. Turns out, he very much was allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and after he’d finished doing the dishes in the sink, he joined you under the pile of blankets that adorned your mattress. Your cat curled itself up at the end of the bed as you drew yourself into his side. He didn’t remember you being this cuddly, but it was a change he was more than happy to welcome.

After a few minutes, when he’d thought you had fallen asleep, your voice pierced through the quiet of your bedroom.

“You’re gonna be someone's dad,” you muttered into his pajamas. Fuck. He was, wasn’t he?

“You’re gonna be someone’s mom,” he shot back.

“Weird,” you responded. “I think you’ll be really good at it.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Definitely.”

And of course Steve was still fucking terrified. Terrified of the monsters, and of his dad, and of all the different ways this could go south, but he had you tucked up against his chest, and he was gonna be someone’s dad, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about any of the scary stuff. In this moment, for the first time in as long as Steve could really remember, the underlying current of fear that ran along his thoughts was finally overpowered by just how much he fucking adored you.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e0509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @plk-18 @hoesbloated

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things imagines #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x f!reader

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junosmindpalace · 1 year

Note

hi! i've been rewatching a few tdliosk eps every once in a while and i kinda missed kusuo 😩 and since it's christmas season i was wondering if u could write a saiki x fem reader one-shot in reference to season 1 ep 16 where saiki dresses up as santa and distributes presents to the kids in their neighborhood? so uhm when he was about to go home, he sees reader walking in the street (she lives nearby) also dressed up as santa for some reason lol. saiki and her are friends to say the least but there's an unspoken mutual pining stuff going on between them. saiki walks her home then she suddenly sees a mistletoe on one of the houses... reader froze and blushes hard and saiki got confused so he read her mind and he was like oh... he's hesitating on whether he'll kiss her or not but much to his surprise reader makes the first move 😆 tysm and pls take ur time! ❤

hi there! Thank you so much for your request! I couldn’t resist writing one of my more recent requests especially with the holiday theme…i hope you enjoy!

ps., dialogue in italics are kusuos inner thoughts/talking via telepathy!

warnings: angst? maybe? if you squint?

wc: 1.4k

The last person Saiki wanted to see today was you.

It was already a pain going door to door dealing with all the brats in his neighborhood, but suddenly it was a hundred times more embarrassing when you were nervously eyeing his Santa get-up in confusion.

But something that sort of lessened his dread upon running into you was that you too were also wearing a costume like his.

Saiki had spent his entire evening playing this Santa delivering presents to the children in his neighborhood, courtesy of his parents. He flew around the sky with a sack full of presents, just like the real deal. He’s dealt with all sorts of headaches tonight- a scared child, a non-believer, and a family conflict, to name a few. By the time his sack was empty, Kusuo was exhausted and ready to head home, opting to simply walk with his empty bag instead of teleporting as he didn’t live far. He regrets this decision immediately, however, when he runs into you. Which leads him to the dilemma he’s put himself in right now.

“Oh no…of course I'd run into Y/N at this very moment. Why didn’t I just teleport home as soon as I finished?”

Just like with the rest of his friends, Saiki found you a nuisance, someone who interfered with his ability to lead a “normal” and peaceful life, but for a different reason than the rest of his peers. The two of you had been friends for a long time, longer than any of his current ones, but your relationship has felt different recently, and it’s been stressing Saiki out.

As of late, Saiki has taken notice of some new uncomfortable feelings that only arise around you. Tightness in his chest, a weird sensation in his stomach. He doesn’t get sick, so obviously these symptoms alarm Kusuo. What was even more alarming was the fact that they were recurring, and most alarming of all, they were only recurrent around you.

He’d been trying to avoid the most dreadful conclusion for these feelings ever since he noted that they only arose around you. He’s heard the signs a million times thanks to his love-crazed classmates. Clammy hands, he’s got it. A burning feeling in his chest? A blazing feeling, even. It brought him a sense of horror unlike any other, but after being unable to rid himself of his troublesome feelings, he’d come to the conclusion that yes, he, of all people, has a crush. Even worse, it was a crush on one of the only tolerable people in his life.

Maybe this conclusion wasn’t all that shocking, but it certainly didn’t make Kusuo feel any good. He’d been friends with you for years, spending all that time getting to know you and growing comfortable with you, and now suddenly he feels something more than friendship? Him of all people, the psychic who thought that it was his very nature not to be romantically involved with anyone? It turned his view of himself upside down.

Saiki reached this conclusion not too long ago, and he’s still trying to figure out what to do with it. What was even worse about the ordeal was that your thoughts, as of late, have also been worrisome, seemingly more eager than usual to be around Saiki and questioning yourself whenever you caught yourself thinking of him in a not-so-just-friends kind of way. He's been trying his best to avoid you until he can figure out how to dispose of these feelings without them growing and without you catching on, as it seemed that they only intensified each time he saw you, and that wasn’t something he wanted.

Yet here you were, and for some reason, you were also in a Santa getup like Kusuo.

And after recovering from your initial moment of shock, you spoke out into the quiet, frigid atomosphere. “Kusuo? Is that you?”

As you lived near Kusuo, the two of you accompanied each other on your walks home. You both removed your beards and hats to see and talk to each other properly, and you anxiously explained to Saiki the reasoning behind your getup after he explained his own, flustered that he caught you at such an embarrassing time.

“Well, my work required me to wear something festive, and I got stuck with Santa out of all our costumes. I would have preferred an elf or even a snowman over Santa. I’ve been sweating all day.” You laughed nervously as you held your gaze to the ground and your beard up in defeat. But then you let your arm drop to its side and you turned toward him with a small smile.

“I think it’s nice what you did, even if your parents coaxed you into it. Not many people would step up like you did tonight.”

Saiki stared at you exasperatedly. Usually Saiki doesn’t care for any sort of praise he receives, and he really (and I mean truly), doesn’t mean to brag, but he usually receives a lot. He doesn’t think much of it, but something about it coming from you makes him reflect, which pained him. He hates the effect you have on him, which is why he’s been trying to stay away. But somehow, he always keeps finding his way back to you, and you to him. He has to deal with a lot of irritating people on a daily basis, but you were his ultimate headache. Just how was he about to go about this new development in your relationship? It made him uneasy to think that things would have to change between you two, that things were already changing. Was it because he let you so close to him that he developed these feelings for you? That he’s gotten so vulnerable, so much more anxious and scared? Was he right about relationships in general being nothing but an inconvenience?

Your house came before his, and out of respect, Kusuo walked you to your doorstep, deep in almost dark thought about his feelings. You didn’t mind Kusuo being quiet, and for the most part, your dynamic has usually consisted of you being the more talkative one. Besides, you were both exhausted from your eventful evenings. What you didn’t expect was for Saiki to follow behind you as you climbed up the steps to your porch. When you turned around behind you, your eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh no, Saiki, it’s okay, you don’t need to-!”

By the time he stopped in his tracks, your warning was futile. Saiki stared in confusion over your panicked face, your eyes carrying a sort of frenzied look in them. “What? What’s with the sudden dismissal? I only-”

And suddenly his own eyes widened in panic as he realized his error, his miscalculation. He’s beating himself up for not being more cautious, especially during this time of year. How could he be so careless?

Kusuo slowly turned his head up, almost in fear, to get a better view of the mistletoe that hung above the two of you.

“My family thought…it would be sweet…”

Saiki stared in horror with his mouth open at the plant before quickly turning his attention back to you. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t entitled to kissing you, he could obviously refuse. But his stomach churned. Did he really want to be turned down? The thought, even if it cropped up for a second, made him want to slap himself and hurl.

The two of you stared at each other nervously in silence for a couple of moments before you suddenly took a deep breath. Saiki’s eyes widened even further. “Are they seriously going to kiss me? I didn’t think they’d have the courage to make a move like that. Their thoughts never indicated-”

Warm lips met his cheek for the swiftest moment before only a tingling sensation lingered. It had happened so quick it left him feeling dazed from being pulled out so suddenly from his thoughts. His surprised gaze still firmly held your nervous one, and silence fell between the two of you for a brief moment.

“Thank you for walking me home. Merry Christmas, Saiki.” You quickly sputtered out these final words before turning on your heel and quickly heading inside, thankful that the door was left unlocked by one of your family members like you had asked earlier that evening.

Saiki couldn’t help but linger at the porch for a few seconds, staring at the closed door before slowly turning around and continuing the path toward his house.

There was good reason for him to want to avoid you, especially tonight. When he got home and headed into the kitchen to greet his mother, she commented absentmindedly on the deep rose that settled into his face from the cold, and talked to no one in particular about how wonderful and joyous the Christmas season was.

wishing you all a happy and healthy 2023!! thank you for all the support i’ve received this past year <3

#tdlosk x reader #the disastrous life of saiki k x reader #the disastrous life of saiki k oneshot #the disastrous life of saiki k headcanons #kusuo saiki x reader #kusuo saiki headcanons #kusuo saiki hcs #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki x reader #saiki k hcs #saiki k oneshot #saiki k imagines #saiki k x reader #kusuo saiki oneshot

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anipologist · 2 years

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Ok, I'm watching Rings of Power (in small doses)...first impressions below.

(Part 1)

Valinor is not Heaven anymore than Galadriel or Luthien are the Virgin Mary...does no one understand what subcreation is?

Bullying in Valinor...unlikely as portrayed. The elves are mostly unfallen at this point and most of the issues are between the adults and after Morgoth starts roaming freely spreading lies. Galadriel is also from a high position in society (a princess) she is hardly an outsider.

Noldor elves absolutely delighted in color and jewelry why is everyone wearing sheets? In fact the Noldor in general just loved making stuff...

To everyone that thinks that the mean elf children are her cousins, Artanis is the youngest child of the youngest son of Finwe...even Amrod and Amras are probably a fair bit older than her.

FINROD"S HAIR! I know it's been said before but wow...ugh. Suspension of disbelief shatters every time it shows up...

Also elves died in Middle Earth before they all moved to the undying lands...so yeah they definitely knew what death was. In fact Artanis and Finderato's uncle was among those presumed lost or dead. (He wasn't, but that's a whole story itself)

And yes, I am using Artanis/Nerwen and Findarato/Artafinde/Ingoldo because nobody is speaking Sindarin in Valinor...and Galadriel hasn't met Celeborn yet (and seems unlikely to at this point) so he hasn't given her the name Galadriel.

moving on....

Wow....that is the most heavily redacted account of the Flight of the Noldor ever...

Where do I start?

Artanis spoke out against Feanor and he personally led his people in an attack on her mother's people...on her grandparents! This is something deeply important to her...in some accounts Tolkien actually has her fighting her cousins and uncle in Alqualondë in defense of the Teleri.

This also makes it look like Finrod is swearing Feanor's oath!...there is one image that Tolkien gives of an oath sworn at this time alongside drawn swords and Finrod is another specifically mentioned by name as having opposed it!

(On a side note given that Finrod is later betrayed because of that oath this is rather sick...almost like releasing a bad Tolkien adaption on the anniversary of his death...)

Once again...Finrod and Galadriel along with Fingolfin and many others spent years crossing the Helcaraxë to get to Middle Earth, THEY DID NOT SAIL THERE.

So far the dialogue is consistently atrocious. The landscapes are pretty but feel cgi and the costumes are uninspired...this was the perfect opportunity to go full panoply of ancient kings...and they didn't. I am not seeing "most expensive tv show in history" anywhere.

NB: I fully intend to criticize blatant betrayals of what Tolkien actually wrote. Tolkien has been a huge part of my life and his writing and the world he created has been a light in many dark places. The characters he wrote have made me want to be a better person and seeing them diminished and twisted is just awful.

So yes, I take it somewhat personally when they are maligned and given that the Silm is my favorite of all Tolkien's writing so this hits very close to home.

That being said, I don't blame people for wanting to see Middle Earth again. I desperately wanted this to be good. And I don't blame the actors who were handed once in a lifetime roles and were clearly very let down by the production itself.

SO why do I feel the need to complain? Well, why do people complain about any bad adaption? Nobody thinks people are wrong to criticize the Percy Jackson movies or that Avatar: The Last Airbender movie that no one talks about about....

So no I am not going to attack people who watch it but I am going to plant my flag here and make my stand. Because this is something that means a great deal to me and I hate seeing to ruined.

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field-s-of-flowers · 4 months

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[ID: A reply on a post from the original poster, @/katakaluptastrophy, reading “@/sunshine-fruit-of-the-vine Ooh, your point in the tags about Corona’s comment to Judith is really interesting! Though I suppose it could also be interpreted as the Second being the ones doing the business contracts? Also please tell me more about your political headcanons…” /End ID.]

@katakaluptastrophy this is old but you absolutely do not have to ask me twice oh my god. This is where I reveal exactly how much of a history dork I am so be warned. I have also indicated Vibes in case that is helpful to anybody

So the common denominator among the Houses (as well as among societies as a whole, I spent like half a unit in my sociology class on this last year) is that there’s always a small upper class/nobility/etc and the population gets larger as you go down the ladder. That manifests in different ways within the different Houses, but it’s the same principle: The rich are few, and the poor are many.

That being said…

SECOND: The military leaders of the Nine, the Second are the ones who do the actual conquering of planets. However, Corona’s comment about how “as a Second, [Judith] should be willing to sell her birthright for economics” suggests they might not be getting their share of the profits. A huge portion of the Second lives in poverty, especially the capital city of Trentham, and pretty much the only way to escape it is to join the Cohort. The wealthy and powerful (generals, admirals and war heroes) vehemently deny there ever being a problem. For vibes, think New York City or Chicago but A Little Worse.

THIRD: The economic center of the Nine, the Third is a trade powerhouse and a hub for merchants and artisans. But they also export something a little less palatable: Propaganda for the Empire. The capital, Ida, is an enormous massive palace very similar to Versailles, where the best of the best workers (and the friends of the royal family) are privileged to live. Unlike the Second, where hard work actually can bring you up in the world, success in Ida comes out of bribes, flattery and sex. For vibes, think Paris but even less subtle, and crazy on the amethysts.

FOURTH: Supposedly a backup to the Second. In actuality, the lack of any real leadership has left the small and vulnerable population (veterans, the sick and disabled) to the mercy of the Fourth’s criminal underbelly. The capital city of Tisis is functionally a ghost town, mostly full of impotent, sheltered nobles and extensions of the mafia collecting bribes, and the other cities aren’t much better. For vibes, think Piltover (I don’t play league of legends but I LOVE Arcane), but the upper city is way more depressing and abandoned and the whole thing has kind of an ancient Roman feel as well.

FIFTH: The administration of the Nine, the Fifth works closely with the Emperor himself to keep the internal workings of His Empire running smoothly. Koniortos Court is a complex and many-armed bureaucracy, managed by its Lords or Ladies (and Seneschals, who do most of the actual diplomacy) like clockwork. It lies nestled in the capital of Rhax, where the majority of the Fifth’s population lives and works. There are frequent rebellions, but they’re snuffed out with alarming ease. For vibes, think combination of Victorian London and the city from Ulysses Dies At Dawn.

SIXTH: Less of its own independent state and more of the Emperor’s House of Wisdom, the Sixth House is the center of learning in the Nine Houses. Almost all the Houses send the best of their best to study there, so there’s a lot of people, but its native population is incredibly small- the size of a single city on the Third. Most of the Sixth is a single huge, labyrinthine library, surrounded by dormitories and a few spaceship ports for trade with the Seventh. Rank is decided not by birth, but by ability and age (in theory, anyway; in practice, they’ve strayed a bit from Cassiopeia’s vision). It’s still very communal, and everyone considers each other family on some level. For vibes, think a walled city combined with a super old university.

SEVENTH: The Seventh is responsible for most of the beautiful things made in the Empire. They export and import a lot of art, from pottery to poetry, and are considered superior craftsmen to the Third (which is why Ianthe thinks so poorly of their cloud formation poems). Outside this, they’re largely self-sufficient and very insular, doing their own farming making regular contact with only the Sixth. The lower classes are mostly farmers, while the aristocracy is just a few families, which is how Heptanary cancer happened. For vibes, think the romanticized version of the antebellum South from old books that like to gloss over the slavery thing, but a little bit sickly and weird-looking.

EIGHTH: The religious center of the Nine, the Eighth is in control of the worship of the Emperor and his Saints, as well as the Nine’s religious traditions. They’re also responsible for a chunk of Imperial propaganda- less than the Third, though, and directed less to the shepherd worlds and more within the Nine Houses. They live similarly to the Ninth House, with religious decadence, everyday asceticism and very little social mobility. The population of the Eighth House is actually very diverse, full of pilgrims from all over the Empire. For vibes, think medieval Italy but it’s all minimalist white and it ruins the whole thing.

NINTH: We know about the Ninth. We got like ten chapters about the Ninth. For vibes, think the Ninth.

#soph’s posts #the locked tomb #Sorry that took like two weeks #Tlt headcanons #How do I tag #The second house #the third house #the fourth house #the fifth house #the sixth house #The seventh house #The eighth house #the ninth house #sorry for the socioeconomic analysis of fictional societies do you still think I’m hot

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harryissuchalittleshit · 11 months

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Do you have any Drastoria headcanons you'd liked to share?

I love Drastoria, they are so soft and sweet!

Draco wrote Astoria everyday they were separated while she was in school and he wasn’t

It was the start of their relationship, him giving her all these little bits and pieces of himself

Astoria in turn wrote back with questions and declarations of her own, though she only wrote back once a week

They rarely saw each other until she graduated, but the few moments they had together they spent exploring the physical side of their relationship

“I drew stars around your scars”

Astoria would trace all of Draco’s scars, and she had the winding serpent shape of the dark mark memorized, she designed the sleeve he got tattooed to covered the mark

(It’s flowers, beautiful and bright and colorful, Draco could never say no to her)

In return, Astoria got the Draco constellation on her forearm, where the dark mark would’ve been branded

They never actually moved in together, Astoria’s things just sort of migrated into his place after she graduated

Her parents didn’t quite know if they “liked” Draco, he was always kind and polite, but they made sure to distance themselves from any DE families

Draco always made sure to be on his best behavior and most respectful to her parents, especially because they were older and had higher standards on courtship

Not that Draco or Astoria would ever call their relationship “courting”

Draco proposed at Astoria’s job, she was a waitress at a Muggle restaurant in London, they both cried when she said yes

Their wedding was actually quite small, only family and friends, and held at the Malfoy Manor against their wishes

(They wanted to get married in a small church in the countryside, but old inheritance/courtship rules didn’t allow it)

It took them a few years to get pregnant with Scorpius, and Astoria hated being pregnant

But she loved her baby boy so much!!

She picked out his name, Scorpius Hyperion! Hyperion was the Titan of light

They raised Scorpius in a small Muggle town until he was about seven/eight and they moved into the Manor to help take care of Lucius as he was sick

Scorpius was the first Malfoy ever to go to school, and a Muggle school at that, but he did have some private dance and music tutors

(Narcissa and Lucius weren’t going to allow him to be completely “uncivilized”)

Draco and Astoria had become even more private at the Manor, raising Scorpius to have a “public” and “private” persona

Then Lucius died and it was treated as a celebration, he had come home from Azkaban a cruel and bitter man, treating his family the worst

(Scorpius could never live up to his expectations, Draco got rid of all of his things other than the damned peacocks)

Astoria was a little disappointed that Scorpius didn’t fall that far from the tree and became a Slytherin, but then she met Al and realized that maybe she shouldn’t worry as much

Draco will never be on great terms with the trio or any Weasley, but Astoria is and he will live with the discomfort for her

They adore Al and later Rose when Scorpius and her start to date

They are the same mind as Ron and Hermione, sure that their kids relationship won’t last and with each year slowly realizing they are going to be forced to be in-laws

(Unlike Blaise and Daphne who never really acknowledge Ron and Hermione as in-laws while Lyla and Hugo are in a relationship)

Draco and Astoria are wonderful grandparents to their six grandchildren and their four great nephews and niece

Draco has two kids named after him, Apollo Draco Malfoy and Hector Draco Weasley-Zabini, while Astoria has a granddaughter named after her, Artemis Astoria Malfoy

They also have a small collection of goddaughters, Sam Goyle, Lyla Zabini, Anamika Nott who all treat them as another set of parents

I just really love Drastoria and adore them and will get more specific if anyone has any questions!!

Astoria’s wedding dress:

#drastoria #harry potter #head canons #asks #draco malfoy #astoria greengrass #scorpius malfoy #family

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focsle · 1 year

Note

how common was scurvy aboard whaling vessels?

Oh bless, this will swerve me from the pit of hypochondria I was burying myself in (I'm not being sarcastic! This pulls me, temporarily, from the pit! At least I don't have scurvy! It's so easily avoidable!)

Scurvy was very common on whalers.

When naval Lieutenant Charles Wilkes came across the whaleship America in 1839, he said of it,

"I have seldom seen at sea a more uncombed and dirty set of mariners than his crew. How they preserve any tolerable state of health I know not, and it is not at all surprising that the ravages of scurvy should be felt on board of some vessels belonging to the whaling fleet, if this is the usual state in which they are kept."

John Martin, of the Lucy Ann, 1840s wrote of "In the evening, dancing cotillions and jumping the rope to keep off the scurvey". It didn't seem to do much. Within two weeks he wrote:

"One man on the sick list, supposed to be caused by his being so long at sea. All hands are complaining of soreness throughout their bodies. If we do not get on shore soon, we may expect to have half the crew down with the scurvey at least. We have no vegetables on board, and are going into King Georges Sound, New Holland [soutwest tip of Australia], a place where we can scarcely get anything to recruit with."

Given that a whaleships spent extended time at sea and were loathe to waste too much time with anchoring somewhere, fresh food ran low quite often. When whaling in the Atlantic and South Pacific whalers usually fared okay, as there were a fair number of provision stops in locations that had fresh fruits and vegetables readily available for trade. It was on said provisions stops that whalers could also, as said by Samuel Wood of the Bowditch, 1849, take a walk to 'knock the scurvey from their bones'.

In seasons that took place up north however, in the Sea of Okhotsk (Kamchatka Sea), Bering Strait, and eventually up into the Arctic, scurvy was extremely prevalent. The fresh food depleted, the ice was always a threat, and unlike other regions there weren't many accessible places to resupply with foods that could ward off scurvy. It's in reading journals during these periods that I find the most complaints of scurvy. And sometimes, the more successful the voyage was, the sicker the men would get because they'd spend more time up there rather than giving up and returning south.

The US Consul in Hawaii made note of this in the 1840s, saying:

"Whaleships were much more successful in taking oil on the North West during the last summer and fall than for three or four seasons previous and most of the vessels remained on the fishing grounds much longer than usual, the consequence of which was that many of the crews were severely afflicted with scurvy, some died after reaching port and before they could be landed, while others were carried to the hospital on litters, being too feeble to walk."

Another US consular officer in Hawaii mentioned the issue of Northwest seasons being taxing to the health too. In the overfishing of whales, it led to a push further and further North, and thus the complaints of scurvy increased.

The Sperm whale rapidly disappeared before the increasing fleet, and in a short time most of the vessels abandoned their pursuit for the whale on the North West Coast. Constant exposure to the cold and fogs of that region soon injured the health of the men and seriously impaired the constitution of many.

In 1844, 1845, and 1846 but more particularly the last two years, a large proportion of the vessels were unsuccessful in taking oil, and when they arrived here in the fall of 1846 they had a large number on the sick list who were obliged to be placed in the Hospitals. With few exceptions the crews were restless and discontented, many had been on board two years or more, and instead of diminishing the debts which stood against them at the time of sailing they had been compelled to add to them in order to supply themselves with necessary clothing— All the hopes and expectations excited by the Agents had been bloated. They were disgusted with the occupation and determined at all hazards to leave their vessels. They would resort to any and every means to procure their discharge. Failing in this, many deserted. If caught in time to be placed on board of their vessels, they would threaten to burn the ship or do some other act to prevent their proceeding the voyage, saying that they would sooner die than go to the North West again, and in many cases Masters ceased to have any control over their crews.

The US Consul was largely concerned with sick (and/or disillusioned) men coming to Hawaii, and then never leaving OR having to have their passage paid back by the government (rather than being forced to ship on another whaler, which was what the Consul's usual method was).

For all that, there were attempts on board made to ward off scurvy. In addition to the exercise John Martin mentioned, he also said the captain allowed unlimited vinegar and free access to the potato pen, ordering them to eat raw potatoes and vinegar to try and hold off scurvy. The vinegar, a mistaken remedy due to its acidity, wouldn't have helped much. Potatoes are an excellent source of vitamin C, more so when they're raw, though eating large quantities raw probably also made those lads have some sad feeling guts.

John King, a rare whaleship doctor on the Aurora, 1837, also had his own remedies:

"13. Salts of Lemon This is good in scurvy when fresh fruit and vegetables can not be obtained. A teaspoonful dissolved in half a pint of water will form an acid nearly the strength of lime juice. It may be mixed with water and taken freely, sweetened or not. [it makes a good substitute for lemonade, in fever, to allay thirst in fever] Water made slightly acidic with it is a good substitute for lemonade to allay thirst in fever."

Okay that's enough, bedtime, thank you!

#awhalin #asks #anonymous #there's probably typos in this but it's too late to read over it lol #there were a couple whaleships named america and not to be wooey but.........one of them was Mine...#was martin's fav voyage...#not the martin quoted here. my fellow martin. whose first name was not john #dunno if it's the same america the navy man is disparaging (either way not the year martin was sailing on it) BUT STILL...

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akechi-stole-my-heart · 2 months

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code violet: an emergency code that can be called by any person who is a witness to a violent incident or a combative individual that poses a threat

The engine room confrontation goes down a little differently when one Yoshizawa Sumire is there, hiding in the shadows.

It's been a long and wonderful journey, but now at long last, code violet is complete! Thank you so much to everyone who's joined me while I fell in love with Royal Trio. And if you're new, now is the perfect time to start reading, as it's now all on ao3, ready to be binge read (if you so desire). In this chapter I push the Sumire With Braids agenda. Sumire with braids!!!

unique and elegant hairstyle, perfect for sumire's graceful personality

allows for infinite experimentation, ideal for someone trying to discover herself!

has a ribbon running through the twist, in honor of kasumi, while not being identical to how her sister wore the ribbon

braids are Pretty

seriously it's just perfect for her!! even the half up is derivative. this is something that's all her own. and sumire deserves that!!

excerpt from ch 16 under the cut :)

Akira’s days in juvie slowly pass by. He scrapes by unnoticed by those around him. For once, he hangs his head low and does his best to move through life without causing any incidents. He can't afford to act out when his friends are counting on his innocence to get him out.

There's still plenty to rebel against, of course. Akira's just as aware of the injustice around him as ever. The kid bullied into giving up his meals while the guards look the other way. The young, fragile-looking boy who's obviously going through withdrawals and getting none of the care he needs. The guards who shout at and manhandle inmates when they so much as slow down the food line.

He should speak up. He wants to defend the outcasts and call out the abusers, like he's done before so many times. But without the Metaverse and his friends, Akira is utterly powerless against the forces holding him down. He'd only cause more trouble for himself and anyone associated with him, and make his own release that much more unlikely.

Akira's spent a year fighting injustice wherever it cropped up and looking down on those who turned a blind eye and let the corruption of society fester. And now, put in the place that corruption runs most rampant, he does nothing. Says nothing. Becomes the quiet, meek pushover society wanted him to be when this whole thing got started.

Because more than anything else, Akira's tired. He's so tired. He doesn't want to be the one who causes trouble. Because that's what will happen—he’ll stick his nose where it doesn't belong, and then the fist will come crashing down to force him back into his place. He's sick of it.

His friends would call him a coward. A hypocrite. And they'd be right.

#akeshusumi #royal trio #akira kurusu #sumire yoshizawa #goro akechi #p5 #p5 fic #complete fic #sera writes #code violet #code violet art

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notsoblackandwhite101 · 20 days

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I love your fic. So glad to read new chapter. I also love your worldbuilding. Especially family trees. Honestly, I'm dying to know more about Demelza and David. How did she became kinda snotty yet caring, and whether Dylan knew his grandpa, if I remember correctly Dylan might have taken after him when it comes to scifi

I'm glad your enjoying the story!

I can't quiet remember if the boys were born before David passed. If any were, I'd say he likely passed away when Dylan (And possibly Dawkins) were very young. Too young to understand death or its ramifications. However everything he has left behind has had a huge effect on them to this day! His study is full of science and history books. As well as his telescope and some nerd memorabilia here and there! Even if he was gone before they were born his memory has had a lasting impact!

As for Demelza, its a sort of Nature and Nurture situation. A lot of it has to do with who raised her and how. Her parents were a big influences, but so were her Uncle Radcliff and Aunt Dot.

Her mum, Orie (Oreo), is really instrumental. Orie grew up in a poor family and had, what I like to call, terminal eldest daughter syndrome. Not terminal in that it will kill you, but in that it will kill your relationships. Orie's parents were the lowest rung on the social ladder. Both working hard at menial jobs for long hours and very little pay. Her parents were happy though, loving each other and their children. It was just that Orie (Oreo) was the eldest, so when her parents were at work, she was raising her siblings. Unlike Dolly and Dylan years later, she had NO time off because her parents took NO time off. She also started caring for them when she was very young. She was basically parenthesized against her will with zero ability to punish them. Her siblings always acted up when she was caring for them, but became angels when her parents were home, with her parents downplaying the misbehavior they didn't see when Orie complained about it. Orie always had issues with her parents because of this and a few other things. (Including her birth name Oreo, which got her picked on a lot.) So as soon as she turned 18 she left, and hardly talk to any of her family again.

However that childhood made Orie dream of a Cinderella life. Where she'd marry well and never have to cook or clean. Never have to care for a flock of screaming children, with a nice big house. Not to say she'd marry for money alone. She just knew what she wanted. Patch certainly didn't match many of these prerequisites. He wasn't rich, just well off. He didn't have a huge house, he lived in a nice one with his sick parents. He had to do some cooking and cleaning, but it wasn't alot. However he did save her life and was very kind to her. (They met during an air raid and had to take shelter in a doorway together.) At first Orie just volunteered to help him with his block captain work, but they got to now each other, fell in love and married.

It wasn't a fairytale marriage, but it worked very well! Patch was passive and indecisive, but kind. Orie knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to get it, even if she was a little rough around the edges. They worked together very well, even if it was Patch saying 'Yes dear.' most of the time. When the subject of children came up however, Orie was not interested... at first. She spent her childhood and teenage years raising her siblings, she didn't want to do it all over again as an adult. She was finally enjoying life for dogs sake! However as time went on, Patch's siblings had children.

Orie supposed Little Dipper and Domino were cute... Plus now that she was an adult they actually listen to her. Not to mention Patch was so good with them... hmmm...

Eventually she pulled Patch aside and agreed to have ONE child. Patch was over the moon, he just wanted one anyway! They ended up have Demelza and Patch loved her to bits! Orie went through a weird phase after Demelza was born where she didn't really ... love her baby? Not that she hated Demelza, it was just she didn't feel this instant love that she expected? (This is called the baby blues and its actually really common for many mothers!) After a week though the feelings came and Orie started to bond with Demelza!

Orie was content to let Patch do most of the emotional rearing for Demelza. She took over schooling, manners and other things. She had a pretty good life... but Demelza's could be even better. She was the one who pushed her daughter to climb the social ladder. Not wanting her to be stuck with tons of kids and house work when Demelza grew up. That mixed well with Uncle Radcliff, who had just moved back into the house after a stress stroke. Uncle Radlciff owned a factory and mingled with the upper crust a lot. (He and Orie got along swimmingly, both being a bit cold and grumpy, if well meaning.) Demelza looked up to Uncle Radcliff, whatever he and mum said was gospel just about. This also coincided with Aunt Dot moving in after her husband died suddenly. She was a bit like Patch, a push over and soft spoken. However unlike her three siblings she didn't work. So she took over cooking and cleaning, much to Orie's delight. (Orie got along best with Dot and Radcliff of all of Patch's siblings. Not that she argued with any of them much.) Dot wanted children but never had any, so she enjoyed helping to raise Demelza, which did help soften her demeanor greatly.

So yeah, it was a HUGE mix of four parental figures in her life that caused this. Her friends also play a part in how snooty and uptight she can be. David used to be able to settle her, but he's no longer around...

Oh and fun fact! Demelza was named by her mother. Orie, as I said, was bullied a lot as a child because she was named after a ridiculous, American snack cookie. (Oreo) She insisted that her daughter have a refined, dignified name! So Demelza it was.

(God I love exploring generational trauma with characters!)

#demelza #Orie #Oreo #Patch #Radcliffe #Dot #David #not so black and white #NSBAW #101 dalmation street #question #asks #101 dalmatians

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paradoxcase · 9 months

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Chapter 26 of Gideon the Ninth

Honestly, what the fuck Harrow

Dulcinea says a lot of fascinating and very strange things and Gideon doesn't notice any of them

Very curious about what "the manner of the Fifth" is, I guess we never got to see them do any necromancy before they died. I presume the person who is "very far from here" is the Emperor/God/John?

I know she means that she doesn't want gory details of how they died but I feel like I should make a comment here about how she's now spent 270 pages not telling me things I want to know, so she clearly does not care about the gory details of much of anything

This is even worse than the whole "if they kill one twin, the other one will be stronger" thing. There's really some fascinatingly fucked up stuff you can do with the idea of a society that runs on death energy and I really like that Muir just took this all the way to the finish line

I'm starting to get a weird sneaking suspicion... so, becoming a Lyctor seems to be what makes you immortal in this universe. Dulcinea says she will "probably" live forever, but definitely seems to think that is worse than dying, in fact she is constantly romanticizing the idea of dying. But, supposing she were here for the same reason that everyone else is here, the only way she would live forever is if she found all of the theorems and became a Lyctor, which seems very unlikely now that she's sick and has given all her keys away. In fact, even if she weren't sick and hadn't given her keys away, it would be very easy to not become a Lyctor if you didn't want to, way easier than actually becoming one if you did want to. But she says she will probably live forever, that she would like to die but probably won't, and that it feels like she's been dying for ten thousand years. I think she's pretty clearly not the actual heir to the Seventh, for reasons that I've been saying throughout this readthrough. Is she already immortal? Is she already a Lyctor, who has actually, literally, been around for ten thousand years? Is she the original Lyctor from the Seventh House, given that she does seem to know things about the Seventh House and they way they see the blood cancer that don't seem to be made up, and does genuinely seem to be sick?

Also, she never actually says what she means by that last question. She tells Gideon the phrase is part of the ritual of becoming a cavalier primary, but doesn't actually tell her what it means, or what she meant when she said that. Is she disappointed in her cavalier who ascended to Lyctorhood with her (assuming she is a Lyctor)? They certainly haven't been talking about Protesilaus at all in this conversation

I'm really curious why she is so sure that Gideon wasn't "trained in the traditions of the House of the Locked Tomb" and that she doesn't fight like a real cavalier, given that I don't think she's had any opportunity to observe Gideon doing traditional Ninth House things or fighting anyone, the most she's seen is Gideon holding a sword the wrong way once. Even Protesilaus wasn't present during the scenes where Gideon was fighting someone (or something). So how is she so sure of this?

Given how maturely Harrow reacted to the deaths of the Fourth teens, I'm sure she's going to be absolutely thrilled when she finds out Gideon told Dulcinea this

Yeah, I think she's definitely up on all the Space Jesus jazz

I know I said it was weird that Palamedes knew Harrow's last name way back when, but like, clearly they've all exchanged names at this point, right? Is it weird that Mayonnaise Uncle knows her last name?

Does he actually know anything about her that she doesn't already know? I would think that if there had been some secret about Gideon's origins that Glaurica had known that Gideon didn't, than Harrow would have been aware of that as well, since she was in charge of the whole House, but I don't think Harrow actually knows about any Space Jesus stuff. I guess by "murderers" he's probably referring to whatever happened to Pluto's population 16 years ago. Regardless, I'm interested to see where this goes

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth

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thewonandonly · 1 year

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TWELVE.FIVE — AUGUST 1, 2022, 8:33PM

trigger warning: mention of drug abuse/alcohol abuse, and assault

you remembered the entire night like the back of your hand; arriving at the club as mingi walked you there, sitting on the uncomfortable couch in uncomfortable clothes, watching the attendees enjoying themselves while you sit there, sober-living and drug-free.

you could remember why you swore off alcohol and drugs for the rest of your life, entirely because of your parental figures; the constant sicknesses you had to endure as a kid, the endless fighting between your parents about who took what, where they put it that normally ended violently. your younger sibling was already housed somewhere else, which you believed was exchanged for cash. in all honesty, the soju you were gifted was just accepted in your kind of heart, and also so your friends could enjoy their night, because they could actually hold their liquor unlike your figures in your life.

you sit on that uncomfortable couch, reliving every second of your lifetime; your mother begging and pleading for you to go into pharmaceutical science for her own benefit, your father constantly arguing with you, blaming you for every single second something of his went missing. and in all honesty, you housed all your parents' possessions under your mattress, right behind the milk crates that they gave you instead of that new bed frame you saved money for on your birthday. that went to their addictions when you gave it to them. big, if not huge, mistake on your part.

wooyoung and yeosang sat beside you, both enjoying their liquor, while you forced your hands on your knees, keeping them from covering your mouth.

"hey, you okay, y/n?" yeosang was the first to pipe up, setting the glass on the table.

you nodded, "i'm fine." you smiled softly, "i'm just not used to this kind of setting, in all honesty." pulling your phone out, you opened your most beloved app, pokémon go, waiting for it to load up.

wooyoung gave one of his signature giant box smile, "well, good news is, we're not much of party animals ourselves." he scooted closer, "woah, your character looks cool!" he looked at your character on your screen before opening the profile.

"huh?" you looked from him to the phone, "oh, thank you." you smiled, your character dressed up as jessie from team rocket, your shiny gengar as your buddy, "i've spent real life money on this game, unfortunately."

wooyoung and yeosang looked through your collection of pokémon on your phone, gasping at all the different shiny pokémon you harbored, even few shiny legendaries.

hongjoong wandered over to the couch, offering you a cup with a mystery liquid in it, and you smelled in, both as a safety precaution and through curiosity, accepting it almost immediately when you figured out it was just water.

"what are you doing, sang?" hongjoong sighed, "give her phone back."

yeosang gaped, "look at all this, joong. i aspired for this type of pokedex as a kid." yeosang turned the phone to the elder.

hongjoong looked to you, to get the go ahead to scroll, which you granted, before scrolling through the page, "wow, how long have you been playing this game, y/n?"

"not very long. i did play pokémon with my sibling as a kid, but we had to pawn our gameboy, after that, we just kind of collected cards." you smiled, "but, i only started playing pokémon go, last year, i think?" you answered more as a question, "i don't drive or anything, so i walk everywhere, so it's more convenient than bring my switch everywhere with me."

hongjoong smiled, "you really like it, don't you?"

you shrugged shyly, "it's fun, and it's like taking care of a pet." your heart squeezed at the thought of owning a pet; one that would've protected you from everything.

you know san had a cat, which you have taken care of multiple times on your days off, but you wanted one to call your own.

maybe a dog; a big dog.

you spoke the rest of the night with them, not noticing time passing until you looked at your phone again, when they all went off to go get more drinks, that it was 3 o'clock in the morning. you gathered your things and looked around the club to look for your friends, constantly checking the time, scared even a minute off would destroy everything.

yeosang approached, skillfully holding three cups in his hand, "is something wrong, y/n?"

you shook your head, "no, i was just going to let you guys know that i was going to head back home." you smiled, "i promised mingi i'd be back home before he had to wake up for work."

yeosang pursed his lips, "let me get wooyoung and hongjoong." he smiled back sweetly, his eyes creasing as he wandered off.

silently, you sat there, tapping your foot just a little too impatiently.

hongjoong approached, the younger two following, "are you heading out, now?"

"yeah, i promised mingi and everything."

"i see." he rubbed his chin, "here, i can walk you out." he smiled, helping you stand up, "if you want me to, i can give you a ride." he chuckled.

you shook your head, exiting the club and pulling the wristband from your wrist, "oh, no, it's okay. my apartment is just around the corner. i can walk." you pulled the coat on, your hands immediately pulling the sleeves around them.

"are you sure?" hongjoong asked, looking at you gently, "i have an extra helmet and everything."

"i'm sure." you smiled, "have fun. don't do anything stupid, hongjoong." you chuckled, bowing to him before turning away to walk off, while he stood there, waving his hand.

you've been walking around at this time of night plenty of times, plus, you knew the area, the shortcuts, and the timing for the traffic lights. if you followed the exact way home you normally do, you would be home in less than 5 minutes.

you pulled your phone from your pocket, sending mingi a text to let him know you'd be home in just a few minutes, despite knowing he's asleep.

you stopped at a traffic light, feeling a breeze hit your back, and you turned around to look around you, taking note of the gas station across the street.

you payed no mind to the car that pulled out from said gas station, crossing the road as you shoved your phone back in your pocket, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead. just 2 more blocks, you reassured yourself.

the car that pulled out from the gas station, turned on their hazard lights, and pulled over, rolling down the window to lean out, "do you need a ride?" a man asked.

you kept your distance as you continued on the sidewalk, "i'm sorry?" you leaned a bit closer, just to hear the question again.

"i asked if you needed a ride." he was older — maybe late 30's, glasses framing his eyes.

"oh, i'm sorry, uh, i don't need a ride. my apartment is—"

a loud roaring of a engine pulled your ears from the conversation, but a loud yell of "hey!" pulled your eyes.

the same all black ducati and sticker riddled helmet that was at your convenience store was right behind the car.

seonghwa, was all you thought.

the driver of the car turned to look at seonghwa, even going as far to open the door and approach him on the bike, who comfortably leaned back, his feet propped up on top of the plexiglass, as if he was lounging.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" the driver cursed.

seonghwa chuckled, flipping the plastic eye shield of his helmet up, "what the hell do you think you're doing? i know exactly what you're like."

the man reached towards his pocket, and seonghwa immediately stopped him there. "i wouldn't recommend that." seonghwa scolded, "assault with a deadly weapon can lead you to quite a few years in prison." seonghwa chuckled softly, turning his body to look at the man and lean against his bike, "plus, i don't think a pink heart embellished pocket knife would look good on you in court." seonghwa turned to look at you, and jutted his head to the back of his bike, "i recommend you sit this one out before the district attorney hears."

"you bastard—" the man made a run towards seonghwa, but you were the first to act as you pulled out the pepper spray you normally carried and spurt it into the offenders eyes.

seonghwa chuckled, "come on, man, don't mess up the bike." he shrugged.

you sat on the back of the bike, tightening the helmet to your head, "let's go." you nodded to him.

seonghwa climbed in front of you, turning on the bike before weaving past the man and leaving him in the dust.

your arms were wrapped around seonghwa's torso, who glanced over his shoulder every once in a while to check his blind spots.

he pulled up to your apartment complex, and you began to loosen the helmet as you waited for him to drop the peg, "thank you," you nodded, passing the helmet to him.

"whatever." seonghwa pulled his backpack in front of him, shoving the helmet inside, "don't let weirdo's talk to you." he scolded, "you nearly gave him your address, idiot."

you chuckled, "even if he knew my address, he'd still have to figure out my apartment number, what floor i'm on, what button to be buzzed in."

seonghwa rolled his eyes, "sure. as if that's hard to figure out."

you smiled, before you looked at him, "if you don't mind me asking," you treaded lightly, the soft rumbling of the motor filling the air, "why'd you come pick me up?"

seonghwa sighed, "think of it as a favor from hongjoong." he revved the bike, "this means nothing to me. i just don't want you getting killed to give him the regret." and he placed one foot onto the foot peg, making a slow turn to the street after kicking up the stand and dashed off.

you silently watched as he drove off, with ultimate balance and control gracing him. you didn't realize how much you were shaking until you pushed some hair that fell into your face, your hand quaking; whether it be from the older man, or from the rush of being on a bike like that.

you decided you were going to calm your nerves by laying in bed with a movie playing in the background and pokemon: shining pearl sitting on your switch screen; possibly screen-burning it.

PARK SEONGHWA is a stone-cold, cantankerous punk-rock player. He hates everything about the world, and if he had just one chance, he’d do anything to keep the best thing about the world in his arms; you, the complete opposite of everything he’s ever built up to hate.

PREVIOUS / NEXT | masterlist

TAGLIST ;; @punks-rad @atinytinaa @prince-mingki @dear-dreamie @yoongiigolden @noonaishere @naiify @kodzukein @layzfeelit

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gideonthefirst · 5 months

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3, 17, and i'll re-ask 16 to get whatever other one you meant!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

WAHOO! I like this one it's made me realize that I actually loved way more books this year than I was giving credit to. Let's say:

5. We Have Always Live in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Loved loved loved this one it's turned me into a big #ShirleyHead and also (along with Hill House) is responsible for some other takes I've had about books this year which I'll expound on later.

4. Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes on a Tribe Called Quest by Hanif Abdurraqib. Nobody's doing it like him. Only music writer I've ever read who is actually capable of communicating the music itself just over text, loves the things he writes about so strongly that it makes you as the reader love them too, beautiful beautiful collection and piece of work. A Little Devil in America would be on here too but I'm limiting myself to one book per author to resolve both this and the Nabokov problem.

3. When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb. First book I finished in 2023 and one of my all-time favorites :] It's so smart and so lovingly written and so complex and doing such fun things with religion and history and gender and also it's a fun and excellently-paced read. Recommend without qualification

2. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Well. It's Lolita innit

1. Stephen Florida by Gabe Habash. Would I argue that Stephen Florida is "better" than Lolita? Who knows. Depends on the day. But I did love it more than any other book I've read in recent memory. The most directly invested I've been in a story in a long time, spent huge stretches of it being so stressed out about multiple things at once that I had to pause every five pages to catch my breath. Stunning depiction of a deeply unlikable character who you still want to win an unwinnable situation. Hostile to any attempt of a reader to figure out what it "means" or is "saying". Fantastic commitment to character voice. Perfect ending that had me totally motionless and speechless for maybe ten minutes. Have never in my life been more disappointed to find out that an author hasn’t written anything else. Man. Nobody is doing it like that.

16. What was the most overhyped book of this year?

Sob really funny of Sarah to get Annihilation and you to get The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones. This wasn’t my first answer because it certainly is less broadly overhyped than Annihilation but I haven’t heard a single other person have negative feelings about it and I’m baffled by this. It fell into such a constant and repetitive trap of overexplaining things to me, both exposition and description of things that were supposed to be scary, and it drove me nuts. It being the year of Ms. Shirley Jackson certainly did not help, since she really has the perfect balance of how much to describe something to keep it scary, which isn’t super fair to Mr. Jones but it’s true regardless. Plus I thought how it treated women was really strange (derogatory), which I would have cared about much less in a better book but in this one really stuck out and weakened it further. And overall I just did not at all really understand what it was trying to do, which could be on me but I’m certainly too annoying to admit it, the pacing did not work for me at All and it just. Ugh. Didn’t like it!!

17. Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

I was kind of shocked by how much I liked Where Are Your Boys Tonight? but I have already talked about that one. So let’s go with The Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb. It wasn’t like life changing or anything but it was a much more fun read than I was expecting since last attempt I made I bounced off the narration style immediately. But despite its many many concessions to the great weaknesses of epic fantasy I still intend to read the sequel and I especially love how Hobb engages with, uh, pain and sickness and disability and how she refuses to let them fade away and seems to really understand the extent to which pain and extended sickness alter people. I’m so so so excited to get to the torture because of this

#asks #ask memes #storybook-souls #ty hannah :]

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jaysficarchive · 11 days

Text

Villain's Wife Support Group

Chapter 2: The Teacher and the Art Thief

Synopsis: A look at a day in the life of Brandice and Rainbow Raider.

Relationship(s): Roy G. Bivolo | Rainbow Raider/Brandice Bivolo

Warning(s): None

Taglist: @floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @mayameanderings

The Bivolo home was alive with movement and noise. It was a bit before the sunrise, making the noise all the more unusual. Brandice was still asleep; but the man she shared her bed with was wide awake. So were their guests.

Rainbow Raider stared at his wife's sleeping face with content. Surrounded by colorful sheets and blankets, it was like a scene out of a painting with Brandice as the perfect muse. She'd been the subject of several of his pieces.

No doubt there was a new one based off the scene in his head right now.

"My poor sweetheart. Hopefully you'll get better soon."

Cupping her cheek with a gloved hand, he leaned down to gently kiss her. He was grateful for every moment they spent together; including small ones like this. He didn't have to be Rainbow Raider around her, only her loving husband Roy Bivolo.

"I'll be gone by the time you wake up, Brandicita, but I want you to know that I love you."

"Don't touch anything!" A loud, rough voice yelled. It likely belonged to a young man. "Remember last time you did?!"

"That's because you came out of nowhere and scared me, you fucking jackass!" Another voice yelled back just as, if not, louder. This one was probably a young woman's.

A third voice chimed in, somehow louder than both combined. "Guys, shut up! Mrs. Bivolo's probably still sleeping!"

All the sudden yelling followed by arguing made Brandice furrow her eyebrows and twitch her eyes like she was about to wake up. Her expression calmed, however, after Bivolo rubbed his thumb on her cheek.

Exhaling through his nose, Bivolo got up to put on his coat. Before walking out the room, he took one last look at Brandice.

Maybe in another life or in a perfect world, I'm a good man who gave you everything you wanted, Brandicita.

"Call me if you need anything, mi vida."

Brandice poured herself a hot cup of tea. She hasn't been feeling well for the past two days so she decided to stay home in order to not get her students sick. This was her first time not reporting to work in twelve years. She took her job as a kindergarten teacher quite seriously. How couldn't she when it was her dream ever since she was young?

"Are you feeling better, Mrs. Bivolo?"

Brandice wasn't frightened by Indigo's sudden presence. They were a former student of hers all the way from when she first started her teaching career at 18. They were nothing short of ecstatic to learn that their favorite kindergarten teacher was married to their boss.

Indigo was Bivolo's way of checking on her when he couldn't or if calling was too risky.

"I'm fine, Diego. Be sure to tell Roy that," she replied. She pulled a mug towards her. "Would you like some tea? It's jasmine."

"Yes please!"

Indigo talked away while Brandice prepared breakfast.

"Did you hear us this morning? Violet and Red almost got into a fight because she was touching one of the vases. Yellow told them to be quiet because they thought you were still sleeping which made everything kinda worse. Then the boss came downstairs."

"I did. Hopefully he wasn't too harsh on any of you." Brandice added some pepper to her eggs. She knew Bivolo gave them a gentle but firm reminder of where they were and who lived here.

Unlike most rogues, Bivolo found it counterproductive to treat his henchmen as lesser than. Instead he took on equal parts boss, mentor, and father figure. It reminded her of his relationship with her former students back in Central City.

The Rainbow Raiders, his thieves guild, were more than grateful for this--mainly Rusty also known as Red. And since Bivolo was their father, Brandice was their mother by association. Not that she minded.

"He wasn't! He just told us that you were asleep and to quiet down. You should've seen the look on Red's face when he heard the boss's footsteps! It was like a deer in headlights!"

Brandice sat down at the table with breakfast on her plate. She saved a little for Diego just in case they were hungry.

"Where are you all now?"

"Flea market."

Words that told her everything she needed to know. Being married to a rogue meant learning the code. "Well I ain't gonna hold you too long, Diego. Tell Roy I said to be safe."

"I will! Bye, Mrs. Bivolo!"

She was alone. Only sound was the fork picking up food off her plate.

Flea market was code for the Network, an underground black market for villains to move, buy, and sell contraband. Blacksmith, the woman who ran the whole thing, terrified her despite the two never meeting. Brandice preferred to keep it that way. She'd heard enough stories of close encounters from Bivolo to not want to be even in the same room as Blacksmith.

Thankfully she wouldn't have to worry about her or any other rogue outside her husband and his guild. Her existence was a well kept secret. While the Central City Rogues operated under a strict moral code that included not harming women or children, others in Bivolo's field weren't like them.

Bivolo was already a private (although melodramatic) man, but now that he was married and out of Central City as a whole, he became someone shrouded in mystery.

The Raiders followed suit when it came to being tight lipped about her. The first rule of working with the Rainbow Raider was never ever, under any circumstances, mention anything about Brandice in public, including her name. Everything was hush hush.

I need some fresh air, Brandice said to herself. After taking a quick but thorough shower and throwing on a simple outfit, she headed out. Plus I need to run some errands.

First stop was the store. Much as she told herself it was only a quick grocery run, she'd traveled with her mom enough to know that that was a lie. And she was right because she ended up spending half an hour there buying things that weren't on the shopping list.

I shouldn't have made such a fuss about Roy giving me a platinum card.

Next stop: the bookstore.

"Hey, Brandy. Haven't seen ya in a couple a days. The bosses been askin' 'bout ya."

Brandice waved at the worker. It was a small, family owned bookstore she frequented for books for herself and her students. The owners, who were hippies themselves, were very fond of her. So much so that they allowed her to bring her students there for field trips.

"Been sick so I've been at home."

"Oh no. Get well soon, Brandy."

"Thanks. Is there anything new in stock today?"

The worker beamed. "You bet! Whatcha looking for? Your usual scifi or thriller? How about both?"

While shopping around for books, a slight chill ran down Brandice's spine as she felt a pair of eyes on her. Who's there?

Turning, she came face to face with her husband in his red tinted shades.

"Are you alright, Brandicita?" Bivolo put a hand on her shoulder. Relief filled her body now knowing it was him and not someone else. She must've forgotten he wore sunglasses when incognito.

"Yeah. Just looking for new books."

"Me too. Would you like some help?"

After buying new novels along with some art books and magazines, the couple headed to a cafe. Some people stopped to stare at them. Who wouldn't when it was a beautiful woman walking around with a guy in the most ridiculous, color clashing outfit ever?

"How was the flea market?"

"It was fine. No close encounters or deals gone wrong," Bivolo replied. He pulled out a stack of cash from one of the interior pockets of his cost. "Surprisingly, I had a lot more buyers this time and made some pretty good money."

Brandice's mouth formed an "O" at the sight of the money. Over the course of her and Bivolo's relationship, she came to learn a few things about art thievery.

Bivolo began digging in his pockets again. "That reminds me, the children made a get well soon card for you when we got back to the guild."

Brandice giggled as he handed her the card. It was decorated with all sorts of drawings, notes, and details. Her heart melted when Bivolo referred to the Raiders as "the children" just like he would her students. It was a holdover from after she introduced him to them when they first got together.

Once they got to the cafe, the couple decided to get to go orders since Brandice had grocery bags that needed to get home. They walked until they reached a secluded spot. No pesky cameras. No prying eyes. Perfect.

Bivolo pulled out his trademark goggles to switch his sunglasses for. Once on, he created their transportation home: a rainbow.

"Ready, mi amor?"

Brandice smiled. "Of course, hermoso."

At home, Brandice put the newly bought children's books in her work bag. Nothing like being prepared to get back to work. Meanwhile, Bivolo put away the food.

He glanced at a picture of their wedding day. In the center was the happy couple surrounded by dozens of equally happy students on both sides.

"...do you miss them?"

"Miss who?"

"Your old students back in Central City. I wasn't being considerate towards you when I made plans to leave," Bivolo explained. "Even though it fell after the school year ended, I knew that your students had your heart long before I ever did."

Her heart softened. She could tell he missed them too. The whole class loved him and even attended their wedding--with permission from their parents, of course. A magical moment neither her nor the children would forget for the rest of their lives. Some saw him as a father figure.

"I do, but I knew it was time for me to move on. I think they understood that as well. They'll always be happy that they met you and got to see Ms. Dara-Velaquez become Mrs. Bivolo."

Bivolo smiled. He loved her ability to look on the bright side of things. In a world where he couldn't see color, Brandice was his light in the darkness. She brought color, even if he could only see it in black, white, and grey, into his world--and he was forever grateful for it.

"Good. Now let's make something to eat. I'm starving."

#fic: villain's wife support group

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