Today's Document
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Love Begins
KIROKAZE
dirt enthusiast
RMH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Product Placement
Not today Justin
titsay
⁂
Kaledo Art
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
No title available
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from North Macedonia
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from United States
@dollstatic
PICK A SCOOP! {DO NOT OVERFILL CONE}
Single Scoop {One shots}
Double Scoop! {Long Fics}
Icecream Cake! {Series Fics}
Love, Death, and Creatures (The Creature x Assistant!Reader) PAUSED
Downside Up (Henry Creel x Isekai'd!Reader) ON-GOING
Carribean (Dracula 2026 x Reader) PAUSED
The Song Of Dragons (AKOTSK x Isekai'd!reader) ON-GOING
The world feels softer when you sprinkle kindness everywhere you go
me when the most scrumptious fic idea hits me right when i have zero time to write bc of irl responsibilities
The Song Of Dragons
Chronicle I | Chronicles | Next Chronicle
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows
Note: There's no fixed Character x Reader endgame (yet), reader's presence may complicate things for SEVERAL characters. I started this out of a whim because Baelor died. (Baelor come home, the kids miss you)
You've watched a total of 0 episodes for got, 3-4 episodes of hotd, and the 6 episodes of akotsk (for people that HAVE seen all of them, please forgive me, I have devastatingly not finished them all especially GOT and its very very abundance of seasons, and yes, I haven't read the books) before standing in front of the Ashford Meadow's entrance.
A sight you've only seen in front of a screen not long ago.
"Oh give me strength," you sigh, rubbing your nape before entering the archway.
Miraculously, your wearing not the clothes you had back then, or should you call it the future?
Nevermind, instead, you're wearing a dirtied and worn outfit, secured with a rope on your waist so you wouldn't look like a kid with a too big of a tunic on her
You suddenly remember egg and dunk in the inn.
A smal chuckle blurts out of you, causing few of the passerbys to look to your direction weirdly.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Major freaking aura loss on day one.
You stomped your way among the crowds, your shoes barely protecting you from the mushy mud. You thought about how if you would've woken up like weeks early here then you would've ran straight to King's Landing and held Baelor hostage till the lady Ashford's name day passed.
But no, you arrived on the day of her freaking birthday, you don't even know if the series is already starting around you without even knowing about it.
That was why you're marching into the festivities with no clear goal in mind.
You look around in awe as performers, knights, and lords alike co-exist in the same atmosphere, you see a squire patting a horse aggressively.
What didn't register to you until now was the stench.
Eugh.
You freeze in the middle of the path.
Disgusting.
You gag, quietly. Tears bundle up in your eyes as you cover half of your face in a crushing grip.
You're fine.
You went into a light jog to run away from the smell, who in the seven kingdoms smells THAT horrendous, you're scared.
You frown, turning your head behind you as a last resort to finding the source, you're actually terrified, what in the world.
That was until you ran straight into a wall.
You swear you felt the side of your face reverberate.
Then a hand caught unto your arms, steadying you before you trip backwards.
The man asks if you're alright.
Oh and you almost forgot, for some reason, you understand what they're saying to you without translation, for sure they're not speaking english but somehow your brain translates it like it's always been there your whole life.
Everyone around you seemed to form a good ol bubble around you to pass, not one of them meeting your eye, not even their robes and dresses touch you as they pass.
"Forgive me," he says again, lower and clearer as he lets go of you."Are you alright?"
Oh you recognize that streak of white hair in brown in this economy.
"I-I,"
You're dreaming, you're actually dreaming.
"You've gone pale, Miss. Did I hurt you?"
You blink into existence.
"Prince Valarr, I-I'm sorry, I should've seen you," you cast eyes down, then you realize you should probably bow, and so you did.
Albeit awkwardly, with half of your body tilted down to a perfect 90 degree angle.
"Miss," Valarr almost stutters, looking around that almost seemed like a call for help.
"You need not do so.” His hand hovers around you.
"Please forgive me, my prince," you bite your cheeks.
Just kill yourself why don't you.
After a beat, he answers.
"You need not worry yourself. There was no harm done,"
You hear a huff in his voice but you're too scared to look him in the eyes.
"You—"
"Prince!"
His head whips behind him.
You take a small peek at the voice but Valarr makes it hard to spot him.
"If you will excuse me," he says, turning back to you.
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Excuse you. I mean—” Silence.
Then immediate regret.
"I'msosorry,"
The corner of his mouth twitches before it quickly schools away.
He inclines his head, formal again.
"All is well."
Then he turns and leaves.
The crowd around you quickly replenishes the space again.
You're bumped, jostled, ignored.
Finally, when the back of his head disappears from your sight, you snap out of your reverie.
"He's so.." you mumble. Your mouth twitches to a grin.
Dreamy, hot, handsome, everything all in one.
You touch your arms, specifically where he held you When. You. Almost. Fell.
Your stomach does the summersalts. A giddy feeling threatens to burst out of you.
You force yourself to breathe and start walking again, determined to act like a normal person and not someone who just met a Targaryen and survived.
Then your belly rumbles.
As you passed by a stall grilling meat.
Ugh you'd kill for a doner kebab right now.
Your stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since like... forever.
You follow the smell of...
Well the smell of food.
It takes you to a very very much more crowded space, vendors yelling about orders.
Cooks cooking loudly.
Waitresses moving in lightning speed.
You spot a busy stall.
Super busy in fact that the laid out barbeque is left alone, people crowd the front of the stall, you don't see any staff from where you are, probably blind with the crowd covering them.
Your chance.
You feel guilty. Yet less than you probably should be, hunger is absolutely eating your organs right now
You stare at the food.
It should be long forgotten now should it? It's almost spoiled now at best, they'll only throw it to the dogs at the end of the day.
Why not just eat it now?
Your stomach rumbles yet again.
Your hands tingle as it reaches for the food.
You make sure your near enough that you can quickly snatch the food away. But far enough so they won't be suspicious of you.
Then a figure flanks beside you before you can reach it.
You snatch your hand away in milliseconds, looking down, you feel embarrassment creep up your face.
"One of these please," the figure, a man, points to the food you were about to take.
"And water if you may,"
"Coming right up!" The staff hands the hooded man his order. Your eyes follow as he drops coins unto the table.
The sight made you still.
The sigil.
The color of blood, a three headed dragon stares at you, it gleams from the sunlight directly hitting it.
Then, in a motion too smooth to be casual, he hands you the bag.
Your eyes flick up to the man, trying to peek up the hood.
"You are not in want of food?" He says, voice formal and gentle.
You blink profusely, you open your mouth but no words come out.
He tilts his head, letting the hood slip slightly, enough for you to see, but not for the throng of festival-goers around.
“Y-Your Highness!” you blurt, bowing quickly, eyes fixed on the ground.
Baelor Targaryen stands in all his glory in front of you, peoole didn't seem to recognize him, with all of them in a hurry to get somewhere and his clothes. Dirtied and muddied, his hood fraid at the seams, his shoes are soiled and used.
He lifts his head slightly, gentle eyes locking unto yours in an unhurried sense.
“Eyes and ears are everywhere. Speak carefully.”
You stutter, quickly nodding. Baelor reaches out, fingers brushing against yours as he takes your hand in his, he places the food in your grasp.
"That should do it." He says, voice calm and kind.
“The food tastes better when it’s yours to hold honestly,” he murmurs, hooded eyes on yours.
"I'm s-sorry," you tilt your head down, eyes casted on the ground.
"All is well." Your eyes flick up to him.
Just like his son.
You remember the Trial. Dunk holding him up from falling to the ground. His crushed skull.
You can't fathom how his death was looming over him, that days from now, he'll be on the ground cold.
You clench the paper bag.
He sees it, your eyes seemingly far away from your soul looking into his, like you're trying to find, or perhaps forget something by looking at him.
Curiouser and curiouser.
A beat goes and he speaks.
“My duties call; I must depart.” You snap out of your mind.
"O-Of course I— Thank you, uh, sir," you shift on your feet. "For everything,"
Your stomach grumbles once again, this time, physicsl enough that he heard it.
You pause, your eyes slowly lifting up to his, you see the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the hint of a smile.
Then as quickly as he arrived, he turns and leaves.
I.LOVE.ISEKAIS. I love a isekai fix it x reader fic at any hour of the day or night. This fic is a hidden diamond I just discovered. I hope it keeps going. It's amazing, I really liked it. I pray we can save baelor.
BABY THIS IS SO SWEET ALAVYA ALL💐
Authorrrrr, when will you continue AKOTSK x isekai reader?🥹
OUT RIGHT NEOW!
The Song Of Dragons II
Chronicle I |Chronicle II | Chronicles
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows
Note: There's no fixed Character x Reader endgame (yet), reader's presence may complicate things for SEVERAL characters. I started this out of a whim because Baelor died. (Baelor come home, the kids miss you)
The noise hadn’t changed.
The shouting, the clashing steel, the laughter—still loud, still alive.
But something in you had.
It felt like you’d been here for days.
Not minutes. Not hours.
Days.
You looked down at the paper bag in your hands like it might disappear if you blinked too long.
Then you looked to where you last saw Baelor's head disappear.
Your heart clenches.
You could shave your head and wear Valarr's armour, then fight on his stead.
Nah...
You don't even know how to ride a horse.
Right.
No horse.
No armour.
Nothing.
Your lips form a line, looking down on your paper, you slowly peel it open.
The smell hits you first.
So, so good.
It hot and fuming and ready to be devoured.
You shove it into your mouth.
For a moment, the world of westeros wasn't Westeros.
The sudden ache in your jaw when you first bite into the food made you close your eyes, the pain and satisfaction both a welcome sensation.
Every bite and swallow felt divine.
You can thank your beloved Baelor.
Then your eyes snap open.
Oh Baelor.
Your heart squeezes again.
You stare at the food on your hands.
Because what are you even supposed to do?
'Hi, Your Highness, big fan, by the way don’t enter a trial by combat soon because it ends horribly?'
Your appetite shrivels at the thought.
You'll be dragged by your hair and fed to carnivorous pigs. Or worse.
You sigh through your nose and take a bite of the food.
Think.
Think.
What do you actually know?
You glance around the meadow.
There's too many banners, too many swords, knights, tents, it's all so smothering.
Somewhere around all this.
Duncan is probably around here.
And egg.
A mop of white catches your eyes among the crowd.
Well there's only two people who's heads are white.
Oh you hope to see daddy Maekar at least once in this life.
You hurriedly shoved the rest of the food into your mouth and jogged while chewing rapidly, your eyes never leaving the white head in the crowd.
Oh goody! another dilf you'll meet today, you almost tripped in excitement.
You meekly follow 3 paces behind him, making sure you've got enough people to cover you but as the same time also enough so you don't lose him. Except you can't see him very well, only the back of his head and cloak.
That doesn't hinder you in observing him.
Yes, it's observing.
Certainly not stalking, duh.
Oh how you wish you could've spawned as one of their cup bearers, you would see to them everyday and every second when they dine.
Much like how Queen Rhaenyra did to her father in their early years.
You realise how near, well not super near, but sensibly near enough to the black queen's time.
If you would've appeared just a few, few more years before, you could've dropped a boulder on the hightowers and ensured Queen Rhaenyra's claim.
Oh wait, you could drop a boulder on Aerion like right now.
If only you could find one as big as the iron throne, you could care less if you get caught after dropping it.
Too caught on by your thoughts, you fail to notice the pillar incoming in front of you. You went in head first, you slam with a loud thud, and you stumbled back, clutching both the paper bag and your forehead.
"Ouchhh..." You groan, rubbing your surely red spotted forehead. "Huh... Where's everyone.."
You realize the noise was no more, the people that kept bumping and hitting wasn't there anymore, and most of all, it was only you and..
Oh goodness, did you lose Maekar.
You groan once again.
The smell of roasting meat and food was faint, you're much farther from wherever you came in.
But there was still tents and some uhh, chairs and tables here, not as crowded as the main areas. But there are no nobles, no knights, nothing.
You frown, this wouldn't be an abandoned camp right? The smoke from the campfire was still kinda there and the plates still had some leftovers in it.
You take a step back.
Are you.. Trespassing?!
Okay, breathe, no one's here... Yet.
You've got to make your feet quick and disappear before anyone sees you and throws you into a snake pit.
You turn abruptly to gain momentum but you hit another very very hard wall once again.
A wall that clattered like metal when you hit it.
This time, you stumbled and fell down on your butt, the man, as you discovered, didn't make any move to help you up or even look apologetic, he stood with his legs wide in front of you.
You rub your surely, surely battered forehead, you scowl, head whipping up to glare at the perpetrator.
"You!" You point at him. The sun flashes down on his head, making it impossible to see his face, you squint, with no intention to help you, you begrudgingly stood up by yourself, patting your clothes in anger.
"You impudent little hedge-creeper."
You still before the voice.
Oh you know who this is.
Oh... You know who this is..
You swore your legs trembled a bit.
You're actually petrified, if you were to choose between death by spikes and death by trial, you'd choose to just die right this instant.
His hand shoots out to grip your arm, you yelp as he drags you out of the sun.
Here, in the shade, you can clearly see the resemblance of him and his father. Clearly.
“Trailing someone above your station… careless. Did you truly think it would go unnoticed?” his bruising grip tightens even more that makes you think if he wants to cut off your circulation all together.
"P-prince—! I-I didn't know it was y-you," you whimpered.
“Didn’t know? Then you’re a fool. And fools don’t wander this far without reason. Speak—what were you after?”
His face was so close to yours, in this angle, you can see how beautiful the beautiful violet targaryen eyes were.
Aerion's was a deep violet, like those amythests they sell on ebay but even better.
When you gave him no answer he leans close even more.
"Cat got your tongue?" He clicks his teeth. "Or is your pretty little head deciding which lie to tell me?"
You stutter, mouth opening but no words comes out.
This is it, your dead, what could you possibly tell him.
'Yeah, I followed you around because I thought you were your father and because I'm hopelessly in love with him I just needed to get a look.'
Yeah you dead.
Wait no.
He waits for you answer, scarily not blinking as he starts a no-blinking contest.
"I-I.."
He raises an eyebrow, he's getting impatient.
“I see… d-dragons’ blood flow in your veins, and yet... it is not yet awake.”
That makes him falter, his grip weakening around your arm, oh you'll know it'll bruise later.
“It’s not gone,” you murmur, forcing yourself to hold his gaze for a second longer.
Please believe this, please believe this.
“Just… waiting for the right moment.”
“Waiting,” he echoes, studying you like something that doesn’t quite make sense.
“Strange thing for a stranger to see.”
You blink profusely.
"You are the blood of the dragon—" you pause, tryna find something that can stroke his overflowing ego. "Just like the great Daemon,"
That successfully combs his pride for he let's you go the second you said Daemon's name, a dangerous glint shines in his eyes.
You rub your tender arm, the sting from his hold still imprinted.
"Who are you?" He asks.
You gulp, you're at the end of your wits.
"S-someone who," you wrack your brain, fiddling with your sleeves. "Someone who.. admires fire, in all it's forms."
A ghost of a smirk touches his face but quickly dissipates.
Your heart hammers in its cage.
"I've a-always been fascinated by it, dragons, fire, valyria," you pause, his eyes snaps at yours at the mention of their old home. "I-I mean only in passing, stories really. I've never seen one up close, a dragon I mean,"
You thought about if you'll really say it, should you say it? Nah, or maybe...
YOLO.
"Until now."
You thought you saw flames dancing in his violet eyes.
It's not so bad to please a prince.
If it meant you'll get out of here alive and in one piece.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he hums.
"I-I have to take my leave, your highness. It was a pleasure meeting you." You bow and immediately turned and fast walked.
You feel his gaze burning at the back of your head.
Please don't call me back, I can't take this anymore.
“Do not stray too far! I have plans for you!"
You bite your cheeks as you successfully join the crowd.
No matter.
You can just run away from here.
Oh but Baelor.
You scratch your head, whatever can you even do.
You almost had a stroke just talking to Aerion.
You can feel your soul dissipating.
Then your eyes catches a bald, shiny head running around the crowd.
Guys I'm so sorry for taking so long w chapter 2 for The Song Of Dragons 💔 It's exams next week and the school is absolutely swamping me with works and performance tasks😓 But I promise when exams are done I'm gonna lock this in and post nonstop👅😈🙏
The Song Of Dragons
Chronicle I | Chronicles
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows
You've watched a total of 0 episodes for got, 3-4 episodes of hotd, and the 6 episodes of akotsk (for people that HAVE seen all of them, please forgive me, I have devastatingly not finished them all especially GOT and its very very abundance of seasons, and yes, I haven't read the books) before standing in front of the Ashford Meadow's entrance.
A sight you've only seen in front of a screen not long ago.
"Oh give me strength," you sigh, rubbing your nape before entering the archway.
Miraculously, your wearing not the clothes you had back then, or should you call it the future?
Nevermind, instead, you're wearing a dirtied and worn outfit, secured with a rope on your waist so you wouldn't look like a kid with a too big of a tunic on her
You suddenly remember egg and dunk in the inn.
A smal chuckle blurts out of you, causing few of the passerbys to look to your direction weirdly.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Major freaking aura loss on day one.
You stomped your way among the crowds, your shoes barely protecting you from the mushy mud. You thought about how if you would've woken up like weeks early here then you would've ran straight to King's Landing and held Baelor hostage till the lady Ashford's name day passed.
But no, you arrived on the day of her freaking birthday, you don't even know if the series is already starting around you without even knowing about it.
That was why you're marching into the festivities with no clear goal in mind.
You look around in awe as performers, knights, and lords alike co-exist in the same atmosphere, you see a squire patting a horse aggressively.
What didn't register to you until now was the stench.
Eugh.
You freeze in the middle of the path.
Disgusting.
You gag, quietly. Tears bundle up in your eyes as you cover half of your face in a crushing grip.
You're fine.
You went into a light jog to run away from the smell, who in the seven kingdoms smells THAT horrendous, you're scared.
You frown, turning your head behind you as a last resort to finding the source, you're actually terrified, what in the world.
That was until you ran straight into a wall.
You swear you felt the side of your face reverberate.
Then a hand caught unto your arms, steadying you before you trip backwards.
The man asks if you're alright.
Oh and you almost forgot, for some reason, you understand what they're saying to you without translation, for sure they're not speaking english but somehow your brain translates it like it's always been there your whole life.
Everyone around you seemed to form a good ol bubble around you to pass, not one of them meeting your eye, not even their robes and dresses touch you as they pass.
"Forgive me," he says again, lower and clearer as he lets go of you."Are you alright?"
Oh you recognize that streak of white hair in brown in this economy.
"I-I,"
You're dreaming, you're actually dreaming.
"You've gone pale, Miss. Did I hurt you?"
You blink into existence.
"Prince Valarr, I-I'm sorry, I should've seen you," you cast eyes down, then you realize you should probably bow, and so you did.
Albeit awkwardly, with half of your body tilted down to a perfect 90 degree angle.
"Miss," Valarr almost stutters, looking around that almost seemed like a call for help.
"You need not do so.” His hand hovers around you.
"Please forgive me, my prince," you bite your cheeks.
Just kill yourself why don't you.
After a beat, he answers.
"You need not worry yourself. There was no harm done,"
You hear a huff in his voice but you're too scared to look him in the eyes.
"You—"
"Prince!"
His head whips behind him.
You take a small peek at the voice but Valarr makes it hard to spot him.
"If you will excuse me," he says, turning back to you.
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Excuse you. I mean—” Silence.
Then immediate regret.
"I'msosorry,"
The corner of his mouth twitches before it quickly schools away.
He inclines his head, formal again.
"All is well."
Then he turns and leaves.
The crowd around you quickly replenishes the space again.
You're bumped, jostled, ignored.
Finally, when the back of his head disappears from your sight, you snap out of your reverie.
"He's so.." you mumble. Your mouth twitches to a grin.
Dreamy, hot, handsome, everything all in one.
You touch your arms, specifically where he held you When. You. Almost. Fell.
Your stomach does the summersalts. A giddy feeling threatens to burst out of you.
You force yourself to breathe and start walking again, determined to act like a normal person and not someone who just met a Targaryen and survived.
Then your belly rumbles.
As you passed by a stall grilling meat.
Ugh you'd kill for a doner kebab right now.
Your stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since like... forever.
You follow the smell of...
Well the smell of food.
It takes you to a very very much more crowded space, vendors yelling about orders.
Cooks cooking loudly.
Waitresses moving in lightning speed.
You spot a busy stall.
Super busy in fact that the laid out barbeque is left alone, people crowd the front of the stall, you don't see any staff from where you are, probably blind with the crowd covering them.
Your chance.
You feel guilty. Yet less than you probably should be, hunger is absolutely eating your organs right now
You stare at the food.
It should be long forgotten now should it? It's almost spoiled now at best, they'll only throw it to the dogs at the end of the day.
Why not just eat it now?
Your stomach rumbles yet again.
Your hands tingle as it reaches for the food.
You make sure your near enough that you can quickly snatch the food away. But far enough so they won't be suspicious of you.
Then a figure flanks beside you before you can reach it.
You snatch your hand away in milliseconds, looking down, you feel embarrassment creep up your face.
"One of these please," the figure, a man, points to the food you were about to take.
"And water if you may,"
"Coming right up!" The staff hands the hooded man his order. Your eyes follow as he drops coins unto the table.
The sight made you still.
The sigil.
The color of blood, a three headed dragon stares at you, it gleams from the sunlight directly hitting it.
Then, in a motion too smooth to be casual, he hands you the bag.
Your eyes flick up to the man, trying to peek up the hood.
"You are not in want of food?" He says, voice formal and gentle.
You blink profusely, you open your mouth but no words come out.
He tilts his head, letting the hood slip slightly, enough for you to see, but not for the throng of festival-goers around.
“Y-Your Highness!” you blurt, bowing quickly, eyes fixed on the ground.
Baelor Targaryen stands in all his glory in front of you, peoole didn't seem to recognize him, with all of them in a hurry to get somewhere and his clothes. Dirtied and muddied, his hood fraid at the seams, his shoes are soiled and used.
He lifts his head slightly, gentle eyes locking unto yours in an unhurried sense.
“Eyes and ears are everywhere. Speak carefully.”
You stutter, quickly nodding. Baelor reaches out, fingers brushing against yours as he takes your hand in his, he places the food in your grasp.
"That should do it." He says, voice calm and kind.
“The food tastes better when it’s yours to hold honestly,” he murmurs, hooded eyes on yours.
"I'm s-sorry," you tilt your head down, eyes casted on the ground.
"All is well." Your eyes flick up to him.
Just like his son.
You remember the Trial. Dunk holding him up from falling to the ground. His crushed skull.
You can't fathom how his death was looming over him, that days from now, he'll be on the ground cold.
You clench the paper bag.
He sees it, your eyes seemingly far away from your soul looking into his, like you're trying to find, or perhaps forget something by looking at him.
Curiouser and curiouser.
A beat goes and he speaks.
“My duties call; I must depart.” You snap out of your mind.
"O-Of course I— Thank you, uh, sir," you shift on your feet. "For everything,"
Your stomach grumbles once again, this time, physicsl enough that he heard it.
You pause, your eyes slowly lifting up to his, you see the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the hint of a smile.
Then as quickly as he arrived, he turns and leaves.
Oh, please, fics like this are my guilty pleasure 🥲 And this right here was amazing, I can‘t wait to see where you‘re taking this!!
You stomped your way among the crowds, your shoes barely protecting you from the mushy mud. You thought about how if you would've woken up like weeks early here then you would've ran straight to King's Landing and held Baelor hostage till the lady Ashford's name day passed.
God, please, this would probably the first thing we‘d ALL do if we‘d be in Westeros during that time 😢
MY LOVE THIS IS SO SWEET💗🥺
The Song Of Dragons
Chronicle I | Chronicles | Next Chronicle
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows
Note: There's no fixed Character x Reader endgame (yet), reader's presence may complicate things for SEVERAL characters. I started this out of a whim because Baelor died. (Baelor come home, the kids miss you)
You've watched a total of 0 episodes for got, 3-4 episodes of hotd, and the 6 episodes of akotsk (for people that HAVE seen all of them, please forgive me, I have devastatingly not finished them all especially GOT and its very very abundance of seasons, and yes, I haven't read the books) before standing in front of the Ashford Meadow's entrance.
A sight you've only seen in front of a screen not long ago.
"Oh give me strength," you sigh, rubbing your nape before entering the archway.
Miraculously, your wearing not the clothes you had back then, or should you call it the future?
Nevermind, instead, you're wearing a dirtied and worn outfit, secured with a rope on your waist so you wouldn't look like a kid with a too big of a tunic on her
You suddenly remember egg and dunk in the inn.
A smal chuckle blurts out of you, causing few of the passerbys to look to your direction weirdly.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Major freaking aura loss on day one.
You stomped your way among the crowds, your shoes barely protecting you from the mushy mud. You thought about how if you would've woken up like weeks early here then you would've ran straight to King's Landing and held Baelor hostage till the lady Ashford's name day passed.
But no, you arrived on the day of her freaking birthday, you don't even know if the series is already starting around you without even knowing about it.
That was why you're marching into the festivities with no clear goal in mind.
You look around in awe as performers, knights, and lords alike co-exist in the same atmosphere, you see a squire patting a horse aggressively.
What didn't register to you until now was the stench.
Eugh.
You freeze in the middle of the path.
Disgusting.
You gag, quietly. Tears bundle up in your eyes as you cover half of your face in a crushing grip.
You're fine.
You went into a light jog to run away from the smell, who in the seven kingdoms smells THAT horrendous, you're scared.
You frown, turning your head behind you as a last resort to finding the source, you're actually terrified, what in the world.
That was until you ran straight into a wall.
You swear you felt the side of your face reverberate.
Then a hand caught unto your arms, steadying you before you trip backwards.
The man asks if you're alright.
Oh and you almost forgot, for some reason, you understand what they're saying to you without translation, for sure they're not speaking english but somehow your brain translates it like it's always been there your whole life.
Everyone around you seemed to form a good ol bubble around you to pass, not one of them meeting your eye, not even their robes and dresses touch you as they pass.
"Forgive me," he says again, lower and clearer as he lets go of you."Are you alright?"
Oh you recognize that streak of white hair in brown in this economy.
"I-I,"
You're dreaming, you're actually dreaming.
"You've gone pale, Miss. Did I hurt you?"
You blink into existence.
"Prince Valarr, I-I'm sorry, I should've seen you," you cast eyes down, then you realize you should probably bow, and so you did.
Albeit awkwardly, with half of your body tilted down to a perfect 90 degree angle.
"Miss," Valarr almost stutters, looking around that almost seemed like a call for help.
"You need not do so.” His hand hovers around you.
"Please forgive me, my prince," you bite your cheeks.
Just kill yourself why don't you.
After a beat, he answers.
"You need not worry yourself. There was no harm done,"
You hear a huff in his voice but you're too scared to look him in the eyes.
"You—"
"Prince!"
His head whips behind him.
You take a small peek at the voice but Valarr makes it hard to spot him.
"If you will excuse me," he says, turning back to you.
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Excuse you. I mean—” Silence.
Then immediate regret.
"I'msosorry,"
The corner of his mouth twitches before it quickly schools away.
He inclines his head, formal again.
"All is well."
Then he turns and leaves.
The crowd around you quickly replenishes the space again.
You're bumped, jostled, ignored.
Finally, when the back of his head disappears from your sight, you snap out of your reverie.
"He's so.." you mumble. Your mouth twitches to a grin.
Dreamy, hot, handsome, everything all in one.
You touch your arms, specifically where he held you When. You. Almost. Fell.
Your stomach does the summersalts. A giddy feeling threatens to burst out of you.
You force yourself to breathe and start walking again, determined to act like a normal person and not someone who just met a Targaryen and survived.
Then your belly rumbles.
As you passed by a stall grilling meat.
Ugh you'd kill for a doner kebab right now.
Your stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since like... forever.
You follow the smell of...
Well the smell of food.
It takes you to a very very much more crowded space, vendors yelling about orders.
Cooks cooking loudly.
Waitresses moving in lightning speed.
You spot a busy stall.
Super busy in fact that the laid out barbeque is left alone, people crowd the front of the stall, you don't see any staff from where you are, probably blind with the crowd covering them.
Your chance.
You feel guilty. Yet less than you probably should be, hunger is absolutely eating your organs right now
You stare at the food.
It should be long forgotten now should it? It's almost spoiled now at best, they'll only throw it to the dogs at the end of the day.
Why not just eat it now?
Your stomach rumbles yet again.
Your hands tingle as it reaches for the food.
You make sure your near enough that you can quickly snatch the food away. But far enough so they won't be suspicious of you.
Then a figure flanks beside you before you can reach it.
You snatch your hand away in milliseconds, looking down, you feel embarrassment creep up your face.
"One of these please," the figure, a man, points to the food you were about to take.
"And water if you may,"
"Coming right up!" The staff hands the hooded man his order. Your eyes follow as he drops coins unto the table.
The sight made you still.
The sigil.
The color of blood, a three headed dragon stares at you, it gleams from the sunlight directly hitting it.
Then, in a motion too smooth to be casual, he hands you the bag.
Your eyes flick up to the man, trying to peek up the hood.
"You are not in want of food?" He says, voice formal and gentle.
You blink profusely, you open your mouth but no words come out.
He tilts his head, letting the hood slip slightly, enough for you to see, but not for the throng of festival-goers around.
“Y-Your Highness!” you blurt, bowing quickly, eyes fixed on the ground.
Baelor Targaryen stands in all his glory in front of you, peoole didn't seem to recognize him, with all of them in a hurry to get somewhere and his clothes. Dirtied and muddied, his hood fraid at the seams, his shoes are soiled and used.
He lifts his head slightly, gentle eyes locking unto yours in an unhurried sense.
“Eyes and ears are everywhere. Speak carefully.”
You stutter, quickly nodding. Baelor reaches out, fingers brushing against yours as he takes your hand in his, he places the food in your grasp.
"That should do it." He says, voice calm and kind.
“The food tastes better when it’s yours to hold honestly,” he murmurs, hooded eyes on yours.
"I'm s-sorry," you tilt your head down, eyes casted on the ground.
"All is well." Your eyes flick up to him.
Just like his son.
You remember the Trial. Dunk holding him up from falling to the ground. His crushed skull.
You can't fathom how his death was looming over him, that days from now, he'll be on the ground cold.
You clench the paper bag.
He sees it, your eyes seemingly far away from your soul looking into his, like you're trying to find, or perhaps forget something by looking at him.
Curiouser and curiouser.
A beat goes and he speaks.
“My duties call; I must depart.” You snap out of your mind.
"O-Of course I— Thank you, uh, sir," you shift on your feet. "For everything,"
Your stomach grumbles once again, this time, physicsl enough that he heard it.
You pause, your eyes slowly lifting up to his, you see the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the hint of a smile.
Then as quickly as he arrived, he turns and leaves.
The Song Of Dragons
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows.
Note: There's no fixed Character x Reader endgame (yet), reader's presence may complicate things for SEVERAL characters. I started this out of a whim because Baelor died. (Baelor come home, the kids miss you)
Chronicle I
Chronicle II
Chronicle III to be unsealed..
Chronicle IV to be unsealed..
Chronicle V to be unsealed..
More Chronicles will be added as the story progresses.
“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies.”
— Jojen Reed, A Dance with Dragons
Guys forgive me for taking so long with chapter 3 of Downside Up, exam is taking 70 years of my lifespan💔
Carribean
Dracula x Reincarnated(?) Reader
Fragment: A soul that once inhibits a body cannot live in the same shell once it has been lost, but it will always be there; In yet another form, another face, another body. One bears her likeness; her eyes, her mouth, her face. One bears the very element which makes a person whole.
For what are we without a soul?
Act I | To be revealed in time...
Act II | To be revealed in time...
Act III | To be revealed in time...
Downside Up
Henry Creel x Reader
VHS Log II: One moment you're watching the ending of stranger things s5 ep4 and the next you're standing in the middle of a long super white hallway with a mop along with all the cleaning materials in the world. Where the heck did you go?
Archive: I was supposed to add more but I couldn't keep you guys waiting💔
VHS Tapes | Previous Tape
You remember an edit of Henry that got you reading hours and hours of x reader fics on practically every single website and app.
Your jaw hangs on balance as your eyes widen almost at the limit of how wide eyes can widen.
Your body slackens and straightens both at the same time. Ts dream looking real. A little too real.
You feel a tingle on your nape as the world around you slows down, the lights overhead flicker, but honestly, with the hot sexy man in front of you, you couldn't csre less, you finna milk this dream to its core.
You forget you had the mop for a sec, you drop it almost instantly and it lands on the bucket of water, the bucket tips, which then... Spills on his shoes.
You gasp.
But he doesn't move.
Not a flinch.
Not a twitch.
Not even a subtle human change on his face when they get splashed by dirty water.
Then slowly, he looks down.
Blue eyes tracking the water flooding the pristine white floors.
Then, this is your dream, you slap a hand on your mouth and dramatically whisper:
"Shoot, I'm so sorry, Vecna Jr."
Good thing your hand was still covering your mouth or he would've seen a full blown Pennywise-before-eating-a-child-smile.
And ever so slowly, his gaze climbs back up to you.
Your breath hitches.
His eyes burrows a hole on youe face, they never leave for a blink nor a breath.
There's an eerie little pause of silence, then his mouth open.
".. You dropped something."
You nod aggressively. "Yeah. Yup. Totally. Dropped the plot."
"The..plot?"
"Yup. Lost it. Gone. Vanished. Like… hello? Why is my brain rendering you in 8K Ultra Terror Shader Mode?”
He just stares.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just watching you unravel like a rotisserie chicken on fast spin.
You hurriedly drop on your knees, because why not- ehem, anyways, grabbed a rag and began wiping the floor and his shoes.
Henry lifts his foot slightly, more confused than annoyed.
"You don't need to do that," he days, in an unsettlingly calm manner. "It's just water."
"No dude. Let me cook. My dream, my rules."
"... A dream?"
"Uh-huh. Cuz no way you're standing right in front of me looking like the love of my multiple lives and I have a mop." You shake your head.
His jaw tightens.
You let out a breath of hard work and stand up, wiping an imaginary sweat off your forehead.
His eyes flicker—barely, but you catch it.
Like he’s offended… or amused… or both.
Then he steps closer.
Too close.
Your brain blue-screens for a sec.
He leans down just slightly, voice barely above a whisper:
“I assure you… I am not a dream.”
You stare into his eyes and—because you cannot be normal—you say:
“That’s exactly what an eldritch sleep paralysis demon WOULD say.”
Henry just:
…
…
“…What?”
"Can I touch you?" A beat goes and he doesn't say anything, he still has the poker face on, you almost thought you broke your dream but he leans back, indicating, thankfully, that your dream bon voyages.
"I— I, mean, not in that way, I'm sorry, I meant, like—" you sigh and groan, you can now imagine the state of yourself if you ever meet Jamie.
And when you felt like the world was upper cutting you:
"Go on," your eyes snaps to his, a very faint smirk twitches on his face, though you don't notice, busy thinking of the new business opportunity that has presented itself to you.
You grin, then bite back a squeal, you point your finger and slowly, in suspense, began nearing him, like a horror movie edit.
"I can't believe this.." you gasp when your finger hits him. And like a kid in disknee land, you squeal and twirl like a maniac.
You actually dont care what you're doing, your in a dream, and there's actually no one who'll judge you, much less your husband in front of you.
"I'm gonna miss this— actually, you, when I wake up," you sigh closing your eyes. You surprisingly don't mind this whole thing ending yet, you'd like to stay here, a little more longer, beside your bootylicious soulmate.
"Ugh, please don't end yet," you clasp your hands together and clench your eyes close.
You must look like an idiot. An idiot in love. Haaa, oh how good this is.
Henry tilts his head in amusement. An anomaly...
An abnormality in this sterile place. Where did you come from? Who are you?
Silly, you're from janitorial services, he answers himself, his blue eyes catching on the name tag hanging out of balance.
Do you really work here? Like work, work. Maybe you're new, still not familiar with the.. things here.
He might've placed you on the company side of this building, but how did you even get here?
So far from the real world, far from the normal side of this place, he wants to know, to crawl inside your brain, know every little thing that twitches in there, the small corners that turn you, it must've been the years of being powerless gaining a toll on him, it must've been, he tries reaching into the back of his head, into everywhere in the void. Nothing.
He scratches the sleeve right above his tattoo, everything's so white, so bright, so sterile, the bleach hurts his head, it makes him nauseous, disgusted.
"You're not supposed to be here," he says, like a switch was turned.
He watches you snap your eyes open, he expects fesr covering your face, a stutter for a reply, but you shrug, almost trying to stop your laugh.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, they're watching or something like that, can't we just skip to the good part?"
His jaw clenches, the ditzy act is getting annoying now. His eyes flicker to the red dot on the corner of the hallway then back to you.
"Who sent you?"
"Eh, I'm too tired for this," You giggle internally, you're literally living the wattpad fic right now bro. You chuckle and tap his shoulder, walking past him.
"I should probably go. I might—"
"Wait."
You roll your eyes playfully then turn back to him.
"Okay, but make it quick, momma's on the clock" you snicker, tapping on your imaginary watch.
"You—"
"Hey!" You whip your head behind you just in time to see the bulky guard that was on your floor once again.
"You should be finishing ypur assigned floors," he crosses his arms. " Janitorial staff are not allowed in this wing without clearance."
You scratch your scalp. Peter eyes the back of your head, his hands clasp behind him, chin moving up and shifting to that of his default orderly persona.
"I'm sorry—" you pause, why are you even sorry for? You chuckle inwardly.
"Oh no, not dream people enforcing rules in my dream..."
Isn't this where it's supposed to like... End? Like you know before disaster falls on you, like when you dream of falling but never dropping on the ground, or when your getting chased but you never get caught.
Bruh, you pinch yourself, then pinch yourself again, and again.
You groan.
"Wake me up!" You yell to the ceiling.
Then you feel someone's burning gaze behind you, you peek over your shoulder.
Henry tilts his head, frowning, ugh this disgustingly hot man.
You bite back a smile.
"Ehem— Dr. Brenner expects all personnel on schedule. No wandering. Now get yourself back to your floor."
You bite your inner cheek, this dream is getting wayyy too long and wayyy too real.
You touch your forehead, then pinch yourself again.
"Agh, okay, it hurts, it hurts," but you remember your mom saying you can't eat in dreams, but you often dream of eating food so like maybe pinching yourself in a dream to wake up is busted and definitely a myth.
You sigh and massage your forehead.
Everything is actually suffocating.
You feel your socks getting wet, the water from the bucket seeping in your cheap shoes.
You grimace, looking down.
"Uhm, I'm actually supposed to be waking up right nowww soo..."
You smile awkwardly, the guard frowns at you, his arms crossng tightee, probably the dream people wondering why you were breaking character.
"As much as I loved spending time with daddy vecna jr," you glance behind you, winking at Henry then immediately cringing at yourself.
".. I'm out—" you pivot your heel, your exit ticket out of this blessing and curse of a dream. But the floor has other plans, your very much cheap cloth shoes slips on the floor, your rag falling with a squelch, mop harshly slamming on the floor, echoing the whole hallway, you land hastily on your butt, your head makes a bam on the ground.
For a second you thought you were waking up which is weird because it should've been as simple as a flick of a hand and you'd be face to face with your tv screen, but instead, bright lights welcome you with open arms, the toxic flourescent sears your eyes.
You see the guard hovering above you, wait, was there two guards earlier? Did he call for backup? Ugh.
Your head hurts.
Your eyes are drooping, ugh, they're very heavy aren't they?
You close your eyes, you'll wake up.
Huh, yeah, you will, uhh, you just need— need a few.. seconds.. to, uhm, close your eyes, let them rest for, for a bit.
Yeah..
❖ As Time Ticks Down (Preview)
(Peter Ballard/Henry Creel x Reader)
A/N: Writes angst with a straight face. Writes fluff and I wanna crawl into a ditch and never resurface. Hi, Chapter 3 of Forsworn is gonna take... a while. A very long while.
But I promised a snippet from what I'm working on, so here's a bit from the first scene to tide you through the wait!
Length: 1.9k Series: Forsworn
Credit: Header by @dollstatic Taglist: @frolickingbimbo @spooky-artist0 @ravencrow1995 @missmaggieb @toogaytofunctiondangit *Let me know if you want to be added to Forsworn's taglist or if I missed anyone!
Henry Creel Master List | Writing Master Lists
⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹
Warning: Fluff. Tip of the iceberg. Do you like yearning?
The rays of sunlight felt pleasant against your skin as you stirred, their golden light caressing your eyelids and gently drawing you back to the land of the waking. Unwilling to wake just so soon, you turned, burrowing deeper under the covers, relishing in the toasty warmth that seemed to wrap snugly around you in the serenity of the morning.
It wouldn’t hurt to have another stolen moment of rest, right?
You blindly reached out to fluff your pillow back out, content to doze off again, only for your hand to hit something solid. The grunt that followed soon after made awareness finally catch up to you. Cracking an eye open, you were greeted by the sight of yet another white-tiled room, painted in the soft hues of the morning sun.
Huh, looks like you were still in the lab then, though you didn't really know what you'd been expecting to find. It wasn’t like you could be anywhere else these days. But even in your sleep-addled state, you couldn't seem to recall ever making it back to your room last night, or even getting to bed, for that matter. Your brows furrowed as you tried to recall the happenings of last night, drawing up a blank despite your best efforts.
It was hazy, at best.
All you remembered was how sore your eyes had felt after finally finishing the last stack of files that had been entrusted to your care, with an awfully sensitive deadline attached to it in bold red ink.
Funny, had you been so tired that you'd accidentally wiped the last couple of hours from your memory? Or maybe you just weren't awake enough for the task yet? You inwardly sighed. The insane schedule you'd been holding recently certainly wasn't doing you any favors.
It was then that your eyes finally passed over something different, something that shouldn't have been there— A side table where a radio sat alongside a pile of haphazardly stacked papers, held down by what you recognized as a communication device serving as a makeshift paperweight. You don’t remember ever owning a radio, much less a walkie-talkie.
You instantly shot up, more awake than ever.
This room, while fundamentally similar to your own, wasn't your room at all. Which then begged the question, where were you?
“Mngh…” A small groan sounded alongside the rustle of sheets as a weight shifted against you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
It hits you then that you weren’t alone. Pillows weren't exactly capable of moving or speaking, were they?
Glancing down, you found an arm that had somehow ended up curled loosely around your middle sometime during the night. Your eyes trailed along the length of it, eventually landing on a familiar face— Peter. And while you'd rather not face the implications of the whys and hows you'd ended up waking up next to him in what you rightfully assumed to be his room, you found yourself staring, a single thought swirling in your mind.
How in the world did you end up here?
It was the most unguarded you'd ever seen him, and you weren't quite sure how to feel about that revelation. For someone who always looked so put together on the daily, it felt almost taboo to see him all rumpled up from sleep.
One could say that it was almost… cute.
Peter’s hair was mussed, his face half-buried into the pillow, and his nose crinkling at the disturbance. It was endearing, in its own special way, that made you want to stay in the moment forever. But the man was undeniably starting to rouse, eyes shifting beneath his lids. And when those hazy blue eyes eventually fluttered open and locked onto yours, you panicked, scrambling as you darted towards the other end of the bed.
However, you hadn't realized that your legs had been tangled up in the sheets in your haste, causing you to trip. You let out a startled yelp as you lurched over the edge in a flurry of limbs. Scrunching your eyes shut, you prepared to faceplant onto the tiled floor. But the impact you braced yourself for never came. Instead, a fleeting feeling of weightlessness overcame you before you felt a firm grip around your arm, hauling you back up to safety.
A sigh sounded overhead as a low voice, still gravelly from sleep, filled your ears. “Come now, really?”
Peter had somehow managed to catch you with surprisingly quick reflexes, but it hadn't been without its own drawbacks. One of your flailing limbs had managed to score a hit on his face in the process, evident from the rapidly reddening skin, knocking whatever remnants of sleep he had out of him.
“I didn't exactly put you on a bed after you fell asleep just so you could throw yourself off it in the morning.” He mumbled, stifling a yawn as he rubbed at the spot you’d accidentally struck in the midst of your ungraceful tumble.
However, his fingers came away red, startling both of you in the process.
You winced. Had you seriously hit him that hard?
You both exchanged a glance, but while you were absolutely flummoxed by his sudden nosebleed, Peter's brow had creased, almost as if he couldn’t quite fathom the fact that he was bleeding. Which was odd, because all humans bled red, didn’t they? But the way he was looking at it seemed to belie the fact that there was more to it.
Peter made a thoughtful sound, staring at the blood on his fingers with a perplexed expression.
“Don’t worry about it.” He reassured you, reaching over to the bedside table for tissues to wipe it off. “My nose is just having a bad day.”
Ah, the consequences of his actions. Both literally and figuratively.
He’d felt it just as you'd slipped from his fingers, a second too late, unconsciously reaching out towards his once abundant well of power. He had attempted to draw from it again— a reflex that he hadn't quite killed despite knowing that nothing would come out of it ever since the Soteria incident.
But this time, it responded. A spark had ignited. While nothing like the electrifying surges of power he used to experience when he was at his prime, the faintest buzz of it had flared to life for just a fraction of a second before flickering out of existence. Then, he'd caught you, much to his surprise.
He'd managed to levitate you back within his reach. Barely; by mere millimeters.
His first act of successful telekinesis in years.
Was the device starting to fail? Or was he getting stronger, enough to overpower the infernal nuisance of a device?
It was then that you apologized, drawing his attention back to you, looking almost apologetic despite it being an accident. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
The nosebleed had been entirely Peter's own doing, however. But he couldn't tell you about it. Not if he wanted to keep things under wraps like he'd sworn to do. At least, until his time was up.
So he played along, shaking his head lightly while he cleaned the blood away and disposed of it in the bin. “Don't be. I was the one who brought you here.”
“Though I wasn't aware that you hated me that much.” He joked.
Hate was a strong word, but the truth was far from it, and you both knew that. After all, you wouldn't be here if that had been the case.
Peter wasn't the charitable sort when it came to his personal space. And the fact that he'd let you into it meant something even if he hadn't quite put it into words. Still, the evident guilt on your face was palpable enough that even he was starting to feel bad.
None of this would have happened if he hadn't brought you here in the first place. Perhaps he should let you out of here now that you were awake, unscathed, and understandably wary.
A moment lapsed in silence before you spoke up again, tugging at his sleeve. “I have an idea.”
“Hm?” He turned back towards you, only for all thought to fizzle out of existence when you'd promptly reached up, pressing a chaste kiss to the bridge of his nose.
“Better?”
A beat passed in silence as he stared at you, an inexplicable expression on his face.
“Peter?” You blinked, calling out his name when you got no response; only a blank stare.
“Hey.” You snapped your fingers in front of him. “Earth to Peter?”
Did his brain short-circuit? Because it sure felt like it.
It wasn't until you saw the red starting to creep up his ears that it clicked.
Oh, you got him. You got him good.
“Yes? wait, no— I mean— what?” He started, tripping over his words as he went, voice trailing off in uncertainty. “You, uh… What are you doing?”
Now, where was his carefully pieced facade when he needed it?
You tilted your head in the same manner he always did. “Kissing it better?”
He knew what you were doing. Of course, he did. It was something he used to placate the children, especially the younger ones, when they accidentally hurt themselves. But for it to be used on him? Astounding, startling. Absolutely unheard of. It evoked something within him that bordered on surprise. No, there was something else, occluded behind the initial surprise he felt. Perhaps a part of him that he'd sealed away.
His cheeks were red now. A sight you never thought you'd see— The ever-composed orderly, fumbling.
It was almost funny, the way he dropped his head to hide his face, arms winding around you to keep you in place. Almost as if he didn't want you to see how flustered the single act had made him. But you could tell with the way his heated skin felt against yours that it'd affected him, perhaps in more ways than you were aware.
“Aw.” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, his hair tickling your skin.
Melodious, tinkling. A bright thing to be cherished.
He should let you go. He should, but he had the inexplicable urge to squirrel you away, here, in the small place he had to himself. Away from the one too many prying eyes. A balm to the everlasting winter, even though winter was still well a ways away.
You felt the minute shudder that ran through him as your breath fluttered past his ear, his fingers braced against your back. And then, a whisper.
“Will you stay?” If only for a moment longer?
⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹
But all good things had to come to an end. And when the time came for you to leave, he felt a strange pang at the loss of your presence. The softness of your skin under his touch. The warmth you brought and evoked within him was like the gentle beat of a butterfly's wings, fluttering in the wind.
The feeling lingered, plaguing him with unrest.
He remembered the first time he'd looked at your hand, uncertain, like he'd forgotten what warmth felt like for the longest time. And now, as he glanced at the empty palm of his hand where he felt the lingering ghost of your touch, flexing his fingers in vague wonder, he realized that he had it now, firmly in his grasp.
“Oh, sweetheart. The things you do to me.”
Downside Up
Henry Creel x Reader
VHS Log I: One moment you're watching the ending of stranger things s5 ep4 and the next you're standing in the middle of a long super white hallway with a mop along with all the cleaning materials in the world. Where the heck did you go?
Archive: Sorry babes I can't make a taglist, I've been writing for years (on other accs), and the making of a taglist is my weakest point.
VHS Tapes | Play Next Tape
"Are you kidding me?!" You groan indefinitely.
As much as you love stranger things, you absolutely hate how good they are with cliff freaking hangers.
Like bro are you kidding me, now you gotta wait like a whole month for vol 2 to release.
You scratch the back of your head.
Now what are you going to watch to fill the endless void stranger things left in your gaping chest.
A light bulb flicks on
Of course. A certain Mr. Whatsit edits.
You grin, a giddy burst of excitement rises up your stomach. It's been what, 3 years since you last saw a fresh, new Henry edit and boy the throat is PARCHED.
You quickly grabbed your phone and opened tiktok.
Then everything explodes white, your ears ring as the corners of your eyes crinkle, your surroundings blur, well you can't really see clearly, everything's white, ringing, haze.
You don't know if you're standing up or sitting down, everything is on slomo, you clutch your head in your hands, crouching on your feet to find some, any kind footing, your legs feel like they're going to drop any second.
A groan emits from your mouth.
You feel a hand on your shoulder, you ignore it and focus on trying to expelliarmus your migraine, then it shakes you, when you don't respond, it shakes you even harder.
Then you hear your name being called, albeit weak, your ears were still ringing, like it's trying to find the right channel to channel itself in.
"Hey," the word is much more audible when they shake you again. "Darling, you alright?"
You turn to your left to see a woman, she looked to be in her late forties, warm brown eyes, and faint smile lines on the corners of her mouth, she held your shoulder in suxh a worry, you forgot she was talking to you.
"I-I'm sorry..?"
"Don't tell me your done, darling?" She laughs, her voice had a lilting, british rhythm, clean, crisp, qnd warm.
"Done? I.. what.." you clutch your forehead, its pounding and pounding, your eyes feel like they're gonna pop out at any moment.
"This floor's not close to done, I'm headed downstairs, you have to finish this floor if you wanna get out early, love." She clicks her tongue, but in a good, amused way. She taps your shoulder and walks away with her broom and cloth. "Oh, don't forget, the doctor wants the break room cleaned!"
She waves up at you without turning to you once, you hesitantly waved back she starts disappearing from your line of vision.
The lights overhead flickers, your headache spikes, you massage your forehead.
"Where am I.."
Your not in your room.
No posters.
No tiktok.
No tv.
No nothing.
Where the freakalishious..
Instead:
You're in a blindingly bright hallway, surrounded with white tiles and bleach scented floors. Everything's too sterile. Too quiet. With your bucket??? And a name tag on your shirt??
You pluck it off your self.
Hawkins National Laboratory- JANITORIAL SERVICES
Employee: [name]
General Personnel
Your blood runs cold.
What..
You shivee visibly, a cold chill running past you.
The hairs on your body prickles, you look around, no one, exceot for the occasional sounds travelling axross the hallways.
Nonetheless, your alone. Lo and alone, you highkwy wished the woman comes back, darn it.
You shake your head, no, you're at home, on your couch, watching stranger things, and you fell asleep. Yes. That's it, you were far too tired, but you wanted to finish season 5 because duh its stranger things, so you fell asleep, you still might be holding the remote on your hand, drooling on youe face.
You chuckle. You're a genius, and on the other, you're dreaming, and you know you're dreaming, you touch your forehead, whoa that's too much information.
A tap on your shoulder sends you howling.
"Woah, woah, I'm sorry," he raises his hands up, probably tryna show he was friendly but his built structure-a-bob somewhat says otherwise.
"I don't know if you're new or something but you have got to start doin' your job any time soon, lady." He gestures to the cameras. You get the cue and nod, you start cautiously mopping the floor. This is a very weird dream, why mop a perfectly clean floor?
Amidst mopping, you start pinching yourself, the dream should end like any time now right? You've been here goodness knows how long and your arms are starting to ache and your back is on borderline arthritis.
You sniff and wipe your nose, and what the crap are you even supposed to be mopping huh? You glance at the guard behind you, he looks like a robot, or those royal guards who stays like a statue till the end of their shift, then you glance at the elevator.
Isn't this supposed to be your dream? You can damn do anything you want, you palce the mop insife it's house and drag them inside the already opened elevator which you already pressed earlier.
Ugh, no elevator song-a-bob? What kinda dream of yours is this? This dream is not worthy to even be called yours.
You tap on your shoes, you watch as the elevator passes the numbers decreasingly till it stops on the 3rd floor.
You internally yelp as hordes of people enter the room, you're squished between your mop and a person, all busy in their conversations.
They don't seem to notice you, which is especially suspicious when you're wearing a uniform so much different than theirs.
You notice they're all wearing the same clinical white top and pants, and a kinda creepy black belt and shoes, so bland, you roll your eyes.
"Yeah, one of 'em almost killed the smaller one, poor kids, no wonder Tess quit,"
"Nah, heard they killed 'er too,"
"Shut your damn pie hole, man. She quit cuz them kids and the damn doctor were insufferable."
You look around, nobody seems to hear them, you frown, you're in a hospital? So are they all nurses and doctors here? But that doesn't explain the bad fashion at all, you surmise, the elevator dings open then they all rush out, bringing you out with them too.
"Excuse me— sorry— I need to—" You grip on your mop and cleaning materials, lion king stampede?
You groan when the elevator dings close, the staff around you disperses in their seperate ways, along with the three who gave you very useful information.
You look around, now where are you..
You suddenly feel cold.. and nervous, you look around you once again. No one. A chill creeps up on you again. You have got to wake up.
You pinch yourself, hard-hard. Nothing.
You let out a breath of sheer coldness, you swear you saw fog coming out of your mouth because of how cold the floor was.
You spun on your heel, about to take the next elevator when you bump into a brick wall.
What the—
You look up to see familiar blue eyes and blond hair.
Downside Up Masterlist
Henry Creel x Reader
VHS Log : One moment you're watching the ending of stranger things s5 ep4 and the next you're standing in the middle of a long super white hallway with a mop along with all the cleaning materials in the world. Where the heck did you go?
Tape I » Successfully Logged
Tape II » Successfully Logged
Tape III » To be recorded...
Pending more tapes soon...
❖ A Rose by Any Other Name Ⅱ
(Peter Ballard x Reader)
Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Whump Length: 11.7k Series: Part Ⅱ of Forsworn
A/N: It was a struggle and a half putting this one out because work had my ass for nearly a month and it looks like it's only about to ramp up... Taglist: @frolickingbimbo @spooky-artist0
Peter Ballard Master List | Also on Ao3! | Writing Master Lists
Chapter Ⅰ / Chapter Ⅱ / As Time Ticks Down
⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹
He’d sworn then. It didn’t matter what he had to do— Papa would never know about you; of the little ray of light that had managed to creep through the walls of his impenetrable white-walled fortress.
One day became two, and as the frequency of his visits eventually increased, he’d taken to spending his breaks in the file room instead. Whenever you probed him about it, his answer was always the same.
“It's quieter here.” He'd claimed. Other times, it was because he “needed peace”, and the common break room was anything but. Which, you supposed, made sense.
You were usually the only occupant of the room, unless someone needed to retrieve one of the files or documents being stored here, which was an extremely rare occurrence in your opinion. You'd only seen one other scientist looking up papers here ever since the start of your tenure, which hadn't been long, but it was enough for you to tell that this file room wasn't exactly a well-frequented location.
Who would want anything to do with dusty old piles of records anyway?
In time, you'd learned to call his bluff. You were pretty sure that relative peace wasn't the only reason why he had taken to spending his breaks here so often, especially since he’d taken to being in your company. It was almost starting to feel as if he never really left.
As the days passed, you found yourself filling an extra cup with sugar and cream whenever you’d head into the break room for a refill, only to offer it to him every time he came by. And watching him settle back into the spot he’d claimed as his own, you think that maybe this, too, was starting to become routine.
He'd watch you as you worked, a silent companion. Sometimes, he’d bring his own files in to work on. Other times, you would share small conversations with each other, sit in quietude, or indulge in a game of cards on particularly dull days. He was an apt hand at it, you'd have to admit; even if most of his usual opponents were the bright-eyed children he was often surrounded by. Or even the scant few times that he'd felt comfortable enough in your presence to succumb to sleep, sneaking in a quick nap after a weary day.
He was a light sleeper, as you'd come to learn after you'd found him twitching at every little sound, so you'd taken care to be quieter whenever he nodded off. But while it was an adorable thing to see, you truly doubted the chair was comfortable enough to be napping in, despite how he didn't seem to mind it all that much, claiming that it didn't really bother him.
One thing that you did like, though, was when he’d tell you stories about what went on during his shifts. It sounded much more eventful than your own job, for sure, but your concern rose each time he'd come in injured. Some of which, at times, didn't seem proportionate to his supposed job scope. Even so, he would wave it off as if it were of little concern to him, skillfully redirecting your attention towards other things.
After all, this was a laboratory, and it was not unusual for experiments to go wrong.
⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹
It was a couple of months down the road that you’d finally snapped one day, abandoning your usual shared refuge for the break room.
You knew that you'd have to give up your life outside these walls when you signed on, but while you weren't exactly banned from going outside, there were still strict regulations in place. You would have to file for a day off if you were to have any chance of getting a foot out of these reinforced walls that seemed to make up your life. However, your workload had substantially increased as of late, keeping you busy more often than not.
Admittedly, you were starting to get a little stir-crazy from being confined to the same few places you were allowed access to within the lab. Perhaps it would be a good idea to go outside, even if it meant filing a load more paperwork than you were currently capable of handling at the moment…
Shaking your head, you sighed. This dreary, white-walled labyrinth was finally getting to you. You wondered just how the other people on staff did it, especially those who had been here far, far longer than you had.
White walls, white furnishings, white tiles, white lights, cold and impersonal… It was unnerving, the way that the lab was decorated in such a clinical hue. Almost in a manner befitting a hospital, or a mental asylum— a place sapped of all possible warmth.
It was so blindingly sterile that it hurt your head to keep looking at it. And the more time you spent staring at the same four white walls that enclosed you, the more claustrophobic you felt.
It was then that you decided to head to the break room, for once. You stood up from your chair, pushing it backwards. The metal legs of it screeched in protest against the floor, a sharp cry in the otherwise muted silence. Perhaps a change of scenery would help your bleary focus. Although you doubted it would be of much help, considering how everything in this god forsaken place looked the same no matter which way you turned.
You'd drawn odd looks from the other people hanging around as you entered the common break room, the doors creaking open. Their eyes bore into you as you made your way to one of the empty tables, but they shifted their gazes away shortly after, not letting their attention linger for long. Even the few faces you did recognize from your time frequenting this place chose to stay away, preferring to engage in superficial conversations with the other willing parties.
You wondered if it was perhaps because of the listless way you'd ambled in, or maybe because you looked like a fright after having just resurfaced from a pile of files after an uphill battle against a ticking clock. Who knows?
Either way, people rarely saw you, and you rarely saw people, so they were bound to forget you anyway, given enough time. Especially recently, when you'd gotten so busy that you were practically living in the file room for the better half of the week. You sighed, bringing up your hands to rub at your face wearily.
Your concentration was shot from the long hours you’d been pulling, but you supposed coming here wasn't without its merits. The sounds of life helped settle your nerves a little as you regained your focus. There was always a dull drone of conversation in the background of this room, now a somewhat soothing ambience in comparison to the perpetual silence you usually worked in.
They did say that humans were social creatures, and you supposed there was a modicum of truth behind it.
You considered grabbing a bite from the food offerings by the side of the room, but hesitated. Or rather, there seemed to be a disconnect between your body and your intentions. There you sat, staring at your hands whilst sitting at a white table, in an equally white-walled room, trapped in a reverie that seemed to swallow you whole. Only for it to be snapped when someone pressed something warm into your palm.
A pleasant aroma tickled your nose then, comfortingly toasty in all the right ways.
—A cup of coffee.
Before your sluggish eyes could register the culprit who had broken your peace, a familiar voice graced your ears. “You look like you need it.”
Peter. Seems like he'd found you.
You could see the relief that momentarily washed over his features at seeing you here, of all places. He took a moment to collect himself before gesturing to the seat before you, inclining his head in question. You nodded, letting him know that the seat was free, and watched as he slowly slid into it while casting his glance across the room.
“There are a lot fewer people here today.” He noted as he relaxed into the chair, setting his own cup down and resting his hands on the table.
Your fingers curled around the welcome warmth as you brought the cup up to your lips with a murmured word of thanks, only to pause when the sweetness of it hit your taste buds. Huh. You knew he liked his drink sweetened, but this was… something. You had a niggling feeling that Peter had just dunked three whole packets worth of it into the drink. You blinked down at the cup in slight puzzlement as a stray thought floated through your mind.
…This was a lot of sugar. Did he just give you his cup by accident? Or maybe he just made his drinks sweet, all the same?
How this guy had managed to avoid falling sick drinking this all the time left you confounded, but it was a welcome gesture regardless. And they did say that sugar was good for the brain, so perhaps it was what you needed at the moment, even if it was a slightly concerning amount…
You fixed him with a questioning look, surprised that he was even here. “What are you doing here?”
He’d brought his hand up, choosing to avert his gaze from your own and take a long sip from his cup. “You weren't there when I went to the file room, so I came looking.”
In actuality, he’d been in the file room for the better half of his break, waiting for you to return from your coffee run, only to realize belatedly as the minute hand crossed fractions of an hour that you weren’t coming back.
A coffee run shouldn't have taken this long. Had you gone down to the labs for more documents again?
He spoke nothing of the irrational fear that had surfaced at the back of his mind as he sat there in solitude.
But what if you hadn't? What if Dr. Brenner had deemed you a threat after learning of how he'd taken to spending time in your company?
Then came the terrible thought.
—What if you'd been taken because of him?
An unbidden sense of dread crept down his spine as another harrowing thought surfaced, one plausible enough that it turned his blood to ice.
—And subjected to the same punishments as a result?
Something in him curled at the thought. Of the numerous needles, unwillingly shoved under his skin. The soft telltale whisper of a taser buzzing before it inevitably intensified into a crackling symphony, burning brightly in his memories. The way the serums they'd injected him with had both burned and soothed in such a contradictory manner that he simply wished they'd blinked him out of existence, if that were even possible.
No, that wouldn't be right. You weren't a part of the lab’s perturbing science experiments. Not directly, anyway.
He shook his head to dispel the sinking feeling in his gut, pulling himself up to his feet.
You hadn't done anything to garner the scientist’s ire or attention. And the camera in this room… was faulty. He'd assumed so, given that it hadn't shown any sign of life for the entire duration of his continued patronage. So he’d logically done the next best thing— He’d tracked you down to the break room where you always got your refills.
And thankfully enough, it’d been easy enough to spot you seated at a table among the scarce crowd. Except… you were looking down and staring into proverbial space.
That was certainly new.
He'd contemplated heading over and waving a hand in front of you to see if you'd react, but a faint whiff of a lingering scent made him draw to a halt. A tantalizing aroma was wafting through the air.
A new pot had just been brewed.
He'd backpedalled then. As if lured by the earthy aroma, he turned to the pantry as an even better idea struck him. You'd filled one for him often enough, offering one even when he hadn't been expecting it. So perhaps he, too, could return the favor. And as far as he knew, you probably wouldn't say no to a cup of joe.
And looking at you now, he'd say that his plan was a success.
“I thought the staff room would be the last place you'd come to.” You admitted, knowing how he largely preferred relaxing in your ‘office’ than to be here, mingling with the crowd.
“I could say the same for you.” He replied, his eyes roaming over your face before he pointed out your mussed hair and frankly rumpled appearance. “You look like a right wreck.”
You looked like you hadn't seen the right side of a bed in two days, the exact timeframe since he'd last seen you, having been away supervising sensory deprivation experiments in the deeper levels of the basement. A kind-hearted soul would have urged you to rest, or maybe take a couple of days off from your duties, no doubt. But he'd seen exhaustion in the form of real, bone-weary fatigue, capable of crushing even the strongest of minds.
He'd felt it before, known it first-hand, seen it happen to others. And that's how he knew that you weren't there yet, at the precipice before everything came apart at the seams. You would function, even without his intervention. Hence, he'd let the qualms he had about the matter sink back into silence.
You rubbed a finger over the plastic lid of the cup under his watchful gaze. “How’d you even find me? I could have been anywhere, and this place is huge.”
He arched an eyebrow, cocking his head slightly as he raised his own disposable cup, giving it a little shake. “You’re an addict, sweetheart. This is the only place that serves enough coffee to fuel your staggering caffeine addiction.”
“I am not—” You spluttered, shooting him an incredulous look as you refuted him with swift words of rebuttal, only for him to cut you off dryly.
“The many cups of it I’ve brought to your office beg to differ.”
You paused, your mouth snapping shut. You hated to admit it, but Peter was right. He did occasionally turn up with coffee at your door, especially if he was dropping by in the morning, even if that wasn’t often. You couldn’t refute that, and there was nothing you could really say in your own defense. You knew that there was no winning him, and it only made the little smirk on his face that much more annoying to look at.
Rubbing your temples, you sighed, deciding to drop the matter. “I just needed a change of scenery. I feel like I'll go insane if I stay in the file room any longer.”
His lips twitched into one of mild amusement, but it didn’t hide the minute shadow that seemed to flicker in his eyes. “I can imagine.”
It hit you then that Peter, being notably one of the longest-tenured employees around, had probably been here for a considerable amount of time. “Sorry, that was insensitive of me. You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you? How do you do it?”
“I keep myself occupied.” He smiled, but in his eyes was a bitter and tired look you’d recognize from a mile over. It brought out the feeling that he'd hated being here, but had already accepted his fate over time.
He looked away then, as if to distract himself from the tides of not-so-distant memories that threatened to sweep him under. A tense beat passed before a quiet admission left his lips. “Your presence… helps. I appreciate it.”
Your attention was drawn to his fingers, tapping lightly on the table to a steady rhythm only known to him as he ruminated on something. They were slender and pale, you noticed; much like the rest of him.
When was the last time he'd seen the sky from beneath, and not through glass panes…?
“Do you ever miss life outside?” The question was out before your mind could catch up, hanging in the air.
His hand abruptly stilled then, his blue eyes sliding to you.
You’d continued then, more in reminiscence than a question. “To witness the vast expanse of the sun’s canvas? To feel the wind in your hair, the sun on your skin, hear the birdsong in the air… Smell the flowers as they bloom?”
He subconsciously flexed his fingers before they instinctively curled into a fist, his knuckles turning white for a moment before he let go, relaxing his grip. The wistful nostalgia that tinged your voice had triggered his own.
“Who wouldn't?” He mused as he gestured to the room, to everyone who was cloaked in the same sickly white apparel as the two of you. It was almost wry, the way he'd responded. “We’re all stranded here, some more than others.”
Peter had recognized that look on your face. One that he'd seen one too many subjects wear when they thought no one was looking— the yearning for freedom after months of confinement. Especially those who hadn’t grown up here.
A sad look crossed his eye before something fiery and cold flickered in its depths. It almost resembled… Rage. Icy, silent, but burning just as fierce. Though he'd tucked it away so quickly behind a stoic composure that you could almost write it off as a trick of the light.
He looked way too bothered by that one innocent question, and you could tell that there was something else he wasn't telling you. “They don’t approve your time-off requests often, do they?” You asked.
He sat back slowly, his fingers tightening around his cup. “No, I don't get to go outside very often. Comes with the job, I'm afraid.”
It was an innocent question, that’s all. He’d reminded himself so, tempering his emotions. But… he couldn’t help the minute stirrings of nostalgia that you'd unknowingly evoked. The way you'd described things… It brought an open area to the forefront of his mind— A field. A breath of fresh air that his mind had never broached, almost as if it were a forbidden threshold he could not cross.
“Tell me, do you like lavenders?” He uttered softly, almost contemplatively, as the beginnings of the threads of memory wisped around his mind like translucent white smoke.
Lavenders? It was the first time he'd brought up the topic of flowers.
“Do you?” You echoed, posing his question back to him.
He made no move to agree nor disagree.
Vague memories of the past floated past his mind's eye, like pieces of a puzzle that he didn't quite care to piece together. It was something he didn't usually see. No, whenever he closed his eyes, he'd oftentimes be reminded of memories of the incident that had transpired back home. Before everything that had condoned him to this place.
The way his mother had signed him off to the doctor, how he'd repaid them back in full the first chance he got, and the tragedy he'd orchestrated in his righteous fury.
It was home, once. Until it wasn’t; he’d lost his place in his home the moment his mother's judgemental gaze had fallen upon him— Knowing, oppressive, and almost cruel in exaction. She had always seemed to know more than she’d let on, even if the rest of his family had seemed clueless enough. Perhaps part of the blame fell onto him for his own carelessness when it came to the teenage usage of his abilities, but he was young, and he probably hadn’t known any better.
His thoughts shifted then, to his black widows, housed under the floorboards of the attic he'd called his own. The way they had been his only consolation— Solitary, misunderstood; much like him.
And then his thoughts flickered to you.
The one that had made him recall what peace felt like in the past, before this entire thing went down. Of the lavender field he once visited on a mild spring day, and the feeling of the gentle warmth of the sun lapping at his skin. He never knew he had it in him now, after all that happened, to recall such quaint memories from years past, of times much simpler.
Fragments of a past forgotten that he’d buried behind the shadowy wall of his experiences in the lab. He'd gotten too used to drawing from his darker memories of rage and spite that it had become second nature to him, he'd realized.
“I still vaguely remember the flower fields that used to grow to the south of Hawkins.” He pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, then, “That was many years ago… I am unsure whether they still grow there.” He hesitated, “But it might be to your liking.”
Years? Had it been that long since he’d been outside?
You filed that tidbit of information away.
‘A field of lavenders…’ You thought in contemplation. Knowing Peter, he didn’t simply bring random things up out of nowhere. If he’d deigned to bring it up, then it would have to be a place that held some sort of meaning to him, no matter how small. You’d caught the softest hint of longing in his voice as he spoke, even if he didn’t outwardly show it.
“Maybe I'll press a bloom and give you one.” You casually suggested.
It wasn’t too far of a stretch, with the materials you had on hand. Even if you didn’t, well, you could always go poking around the lab. Surely an establishment this large would have hard-bound books of considerable weight and parchment paper lying around somewhere, right? And if it really came down to it, there was the possibility of improvising.
He blinked, slowly. You were willing to go out of your way to get him something? Of course, he largely preferred spiders, but he didn't know how you'd react around his morbid fascination for arachnids, or where you'd even start to go around procuring one, for that matter. Still, even if it was just a bloom…
Whilst he’d love to grace his eyes upon the world outside the walls once more, he knew that it would be near impossible, given the circumstances. Even on the rare chance that he did get let out, he was placed under strict, unshakable surveillance. Watchful eyes tailed his every move, and his area of supervised activity was strictly limited to a small radius beyond the white-walled structure of the lab— a couple of streets beyond it, at most. Not far enough to hit the main town, nowhere near Morehead Street where his previous place of dwelling stood, and definitely too far from the field he'd spoken of.
Peter regarded you with an unguarded smile then, so bright in its intensity that it was almost blinding. “I'd love that.”
Even if it’d end up being a piece of withered nothingness in time, he'd hold onto it. A token of the world beyond the prison that held him. Perhaps, one day, if the day ever came, he’d be able to visit the field himself once more.
You felt your breath catch in your throat, stunned. It was the first time you'd seen him show such an openly genuine reaction. But as the hour hand shifted on the clock with a quiet chime to denote noon, you realized that your break was drawing to a close. Standing up, you patted his shoulder in thanks, a promise falling from your lips as you bid him goodbye, wishing him a good day before disappearing through the doors with a final wave.
He responded with a small wave as he watched your retreating figure, wearing the same unwitting smile before he'd caught himself and schooled his features back to their usual polished exterior.
It was then that something seemed to belatedly click in his head— the realization that he was well and truly screwed. Fondness was just another weakness that the doctor could exploit. He knew that, yet he still found himself unable to stop himself from seeking you out over the past few months, all the same.
Somehow, he'd started to find comfort in your company as you grew closer, like an addictive balm that soothed the splinters in his fractured soul. And that revelation, he'd found, was both enlightening and terrifying.
Little did he know that you were no different, having similarly succumbed to the same fate.
With his bright blue eyes, fluffy golden hair, and smile that could kill, even if it never strayed too far from cordiality, and never quite reached his eyes. It wasn't long before you found yourself smitten by the strange, but incredibly touch-adverse orderly. And oddly enough, you had a feeling that you weren't alone.
Peter, for all the oddities and mysteries that surrounded his person, had slid into your life in his own strange little way. You noticed the way he’d stopped flinching at your touch as you'd slowly gotten familiar with each other. Compared to the first time you’d met him, he seemed to no longer register you as a foreseeable threat the more you'd spent time together. Like a reluctant feline, he'd lean into you at times, seeking comfort in your touch; or perhaps for a silent reassurance that you were still there with him, basking in the warmth of pleasant exchanges.
Then came a day, a few months down the road— Peter had come in earlier than you had after a rough day. Except, a rough day would have been an abysmal understatement for what he'd been through.
He'd messed up on his shift today. One of the children that had been under his charge in the rainbow room had gotten injured from play, and Dr. Brenner hadn't taken the incident of psychic roughhousing lightly. No, he'd kindly told all the children to follow the other orderly on duty out and to return to their own rooms before those steely eyes turned to him.
The weight of it settled heavily, almost oppressively in nature. Dr. Brenner’s piercing gaze was cold and hard, flashing menacingly in a way that immediately sent chills shooting down his spine.
Dr. Brenner’s fury was warranted, he supposed. A child had almost died today, in the very room he was supposed to have been overseeing. It was an oversight on his part, but could he really be blamed for the unpredictability of children less than half his age?
The kid, Two, as he’d been numerically named, had instigated a fight with one of the younger subjects, Twelve. For what reason, Peter hadn’t had the foggiest idea. Perhaps it could’ve been a fight over Papa’s attention, due to their lack of a proper parental figure, or maybe, and more plausibly, Two, who had always been the instigator of such incidents, had simply been bored.
The atmosphere of the playroom had always had a rather grim quality to it, despite it being a room for “leisure”. Especially on a day like this, where some, if not all, of the subjects were kept here to while the time away while awaiting their turn to show their hand at whatever experiment the many scientists were conducting.
Both boys had been together at the maze table for a while before a pained yelp had cut through the inherent silence of the rainbow room, alerting the orderlies on duty. Peter’s gaze instantly snapped towards the direction of the sound. The smaller of the duo was holding his hands to his forehead. Red trickled down, staining the front of his white hospital gown, and a faint coppery tang filled the air. An injury.
His eyes darted between them, calculating and sharp as he assessed the situation at hand. They were at a stand-off, having both gotten out of their seats, and were currently staring each other down. Eventually, his gaze landed on the ball of solid metal that had clattered uselessly onto the white-tiled floor, leaving faint streaks of bright crimson in its wake as it rolled a short distance away.
Two had used his telekinesis to lift the metal ball that had served as the main objective of the wooden maze inlaid onto the table, off its perch, and sent it hurtling towards Twelve's face, and he’d hit his mark.
Peter watched as Two raised an arm, palm outstretched. There was a bored look on the older child's face, as if he were looking at the futile struggles of a cornered ant trapped in a ring of water.
“I don't know why Papa took an interest in you.” The older child held his position for a total of two seconds before advancing on his target with crushing intent. “You’re pathetic.” He stated coldly, as if attacking his sibling was no different from casually flicking non-existent lint off his sleeves.
Perhaps that might have actually been the case for Two. Maybe it really was just child's play for him. In fact, Peter wouldn't have put it past him. Two was stronger, as he'd proven time and time again in Dr. Brenner’s “classes”. But for Twelve… it was an undeniably tall order. The little boy's face scrunched up in effort as he attempted to mitigate the psychic attack, struggling to remain on his feet while feebly pushing against the invisible, yet unrelenting force.
Peter’s hand twitched as he instinctively raised his own fingers a few centimeters in the air to put a stop to their foolishness, reaching inward to draw from his own reserves.
Except, nothing.
Gone was the bubbling fountain that used to reach out to him as long as he'd willed it hard enough. The sheer emptiness that now stood in its place seemed almost mocking, even. He didn't know why he even tried, futile as it was. His powers had been blocked off from him for years now.
He clenched his jaw, his hand dropping back to his side as he stepped forward from his usual position by the wall. He knew that he couldn't do anything from this distance, even if he wanted to. Hence, the least he could do was to walk over and break up the fight with whatever authority he seemed to have. But just as he started moving in their direction, his fellow orderly had given him a look, holding out an arm to block him from advancing— a silent warning to stay his hand. The scientists didn’t like it when orderlies stepped in to mitigate conflicts between subjects, claiming that it made for more natural results.
He’d recognized the little runt, dimly noting that he wasn’t the strongest out of the lot by any means. His abilities were still growing, and control, as far as things went, usually came with time and practice. None of which a child half of Two’s age would have, or could ever dream of having.
Peter’s eyes darted up to the camera in the room. As expected, it whirred to life, the lenses focusing as its metallic body tilted at an angle to better watch the fight unfold. The red light blinked ominously as surveillance was activated.
They were watching this all play out, he noted, eyes narrowing at the metallic contraption. And with every flash of red, things escalated. It was almost cruel to watch, but no one did anything.
The other children had gathered to watch the spectacle, none daring enough to challenge the leader as both of their faces scrunched up in concentration. Blood dripped, intensifying the faint metallic tang that already hung in the air. Twelve tried to force Two back, but it had only served to further infuriate his opponent, his own feet sliding backwards as a result.
“Pathetic.” Came Two’s mocking comment as his opponent barely made a dent in his defenses.
Then, everything went downhill; The boy, young as he was, wasn't aware that he could be overloaded by his own strength. It was either him or his opponent. And Twelve wasn’t about to let himself be sent flying into the wall behind him. He knew that the adults were watching him behind the glinting lenses of the camera. And… perhaps, Papa, too, was among those eyes that were currently fixated on the scene. And if the white-haired scientist was watching him… He couldn’t disappoint him.
Perhaps that was why Two had decided to pick a fight with him, for Papa himself had been seeing to his recent training. He’d claimed that he hadn’t been performing as well as he should’ve based on past statistics, whatever that meant. Twelve didn’t quite have the capacity to understand such big words yet, but it was probably not something good, given the frown that had marred Papa’s features throughout the sessions.
Hence, when Twelve strained, and oh… how he did strain, to overthrow the bulk of mass that had been Two, something in the child had snapped. Amplified by his desperation, an electric wave of power surged forth, sizzling through his veins like molten gold. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered with insistence, the dull hum that hung in the background from their presence rising to an ominous buzz.
With newfound determination, Twelve had managed to ground himself, his feet no longer slipping out from under him. Throwing everything to the wind, he'd poured everything into the next mental wave he directed towards his sibling. Power pulsed through him, an erratic current that consumed more than it was sustained, eating him whole.
Seeing his opponent struggling vainly in the grasp his power had over him, Two started poking at Twelve again. “You should give up now, before I ki—” The last word died on his lips then, as he felt his stance shift.
“Wha…?” The smug expression that had been on Two's face instantly faltered, his brows creasing in slight confusion as he felt himself be repelled.
He was getting bested. And as the one that stood at the top of an unproclaimed hierarchy that seemed to rule this little room... He couldn't let that happen.
“I’ll make you regret ever having tried.” He snarled, advancing a step forward.
The pressure only amplified, but it was too much for Twelve, too much power for a body so small; A weight too heavy for a vessel yet untrained. The crimson droplets that fell from his nose gradually turned into rivulets before they started pouring from the various orifices of his face.
That didn’t bode well.
Peter’s own brow knitted at the scene, concern and pity warring in his eyes. It was brutal, the way everyone seemed to be constantly at each other's throats. Not that he could blame them; that was just how they were brought up. Papa didn't tolerate weakness— everyone here knew that. He glanced at the other orderly again, insistent, only to receive a verbal “no”. But this… Surely there will come a point where things have gone too far, right? Someone would have to pay the price.
The lights above seemed to spark, almost in warning, before Twelve’s frame gave one final shudder and he crumpled.
No one did anything until someone finally did, but by then, it was already too late.
“That's enough, Two.” A stern yet commanding voice cut through the thick air just as the heavy reinforced doors to the room slammed open, snapping Two out of his power trip.
A handful of orderlies rushed in with Dr. Brenner following close behind, flanked by guards who remained stationed outside the door just as Twelve dropped heavily to the ground. And while his voice didn't exactly boom through the room, it might as well have from both the fear and awe it instilled in the majority of the occupants of the room.
Two froze while the other children immediately filed out into two lines before the entryway of the rainbow room, a chorus of “Good afternoon, Papa” ringing out in the air.
“Good afternoon, children.” Dr. Brenner greeted them while the other members of the staff got to work. Namely, the orderlies had gone to restrain a now docile Two, and the nurse had gone to check up on the status of the now unconscious Twelve alongside a few others.
He then strode up to Two and the small group of orderlies that had him restrained near the back of the room, his face a mask of calm. Even so, it did little to dampen his imposing presence and the air of authority that he carried. Two, the bully, looked rightfully intimidated and seemed to shrink in his presence.
“Papa, I didn't mean t—” Two started off, only to be promptly silenced by a hard look; one of immeasurable disappointment.
“Quiet. You can save it for later.” He admonished.
Dr. Brenner stood before the child, half-observing him, and half-watching as the other staff members moved to carry Twelve out of the room. The nurse on duty came up to him then, whispering the diagnosis of Twelve's emergency assessment in his ear before quickly scurrying out, hot on the heels of her new patient.
The boy's biometrical readings had been much higher than usual. Unsurprising, considering the incident that had transpired just moments before. He had experienced a surge in his power levels that his body was unable to contain, causing a fluctuation within him that had effectively knocked him out into oblivion; if only to protect itself from suffering much more severe and permanent consequences that he would not be able to come back from.
But he would live. It seems like they got here in time. The damage had already been done, but thankfully, it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed with proper treatment and lots of rest prescribed.
Two things hit the doctor at once at the news. Relief, that the boy would survive, and that they hadn't lost an important subject to the stupidity of immature children. And fury, for this incident would no doubt impede Twelve’s progress, thus affecting the experiment. Underlining it all was bitter disappointment that only flared alongside his anger.
He then nodded at the orderlies, inclining his head towards the door. “Take him to my office. I'll deal with him later.”
Which brought him to the question… Hadn’t this been the exact reason why he’d planted his very first subject here, among the masses— to prevent such high-risk fights from breaking out?
His steely gaze turned to Peter then, whose back instinctively straightened at the attention. Then, he turned back to the children, addressing them with a sociable smile as he gestured to the other orderly who stood a couple of meters away from where Peter was stationed.
“Now, children. If you would be so kind as to follow this orderly here back to your rooms. Training will be postponed to a later hour.” Inclining his head towards the other orderly, Dr. Brenner watched as the man nodded and stepped forward to lead everyone out of the room, the children following after him like little ducklings as they made their exit.
Then, he turned to Peter as the room slowly cleared out.
Peter swallowed. He didn't like the look the doctor was giving him— he was in foreseeable trouble, that he knew. He could feel a bead of nervous sweat sliding down his temple from the intensity of his gaze.
At the moment, his eyes seemed to speak volumes of his disappointment. Peter could see the anger in his posture despite the crisp and collected image of himself he'd portrayed to the world, to the children he'd just sent away. The tick in his jaw had given him away, so harshly set that it was impossible to mistake for anything else.
It didn't matter how crisply ironed his suit was, how perfectly he'd shined his shoes, or how impeccable his white hair looked in the slicked back style he'd molded it into. It was all just a front he created in order to appear unassuming to the subjects; to the children— to him.
But Peter knew better than to trust the kindness from this man, no matter what face he wore. Because when the dear old scientist’s perfect facade finally shattered into a million smithereens, so did Peter’s carefully pieced mask of neutrality. As even-handed as ‘papa’ was with his exacting standards when it came to the other subjects, everything seemed to be tipped in the favor of “otherwise” when it came to Peter. Perhaps due to his own “failures”, or maybe it was all out of “fear”. No one could say for sure.
The thinly veiled animosity in his voice was biting, like the warning hiss of a viper, poised and ready to strike. “Now then, care to explain how this happened, Peter?” He inquired, cocking his head ever so slightly with narrowed eyes and an equally venomous smile.
As the origin, he was supposed to know better.
As the first subject of this twisted experiment, he should have recognized the signs.
As Henry… he would have. Had he had his powers, perhaps he could have sensed the fluctuations and the consequent overload within the child and put a stop to it before disaster struck.
But… as Peter? Powerless and so painfully human, reduced to nothing but a shell of his former self?
No one except a select few even knew what he was capable of— what he had been capable of. What was he without his innate psychic abilities? As if a husk of a shell could do anything more than watch and make semi-educated guesses as to when he should step in? And that was if he was even allowed to intervene.
Woefully inadequate. That was what he’d been relegated to. There was little more he could do in his current capacity other than to play rolekeeper among his unwitting “brothers and sisters”.
And for the first time in a long while, Peter felt his heart sink. His throat constricted painfully in an attempt to quell his fears as he replied. “You said you didn't want us interfering with the subjects when they fought. And… the other orderly stopped me from stepping in.”
“Yes.” The saccharine voice that traveled past his ears dripped with condescension so thick that it made the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. “And why would that be?”
The doctor circled the blond orderly like a vulture would its prey as he stood in his usual position by the mirror on the wall with his hands clasped behind his back. The heels of his superior’s shoes clicked ominously against the tiles, each click more foreboding than the last, sending his heart rate spiking.
“Healthy competition… helps contribute to the growth of their abilities.” He answered, his voice small and hesitant, as if he were no more than a boy who had seen a mere fifteen summers, and nothing like the man he'd physically grown into.
Peter swallowed dryly as the good doctor advanced onto him, his eyes instantly shifting downwards to the floor. He could feel the cold sweat beginning to bead on his skin from the oppressive tension that hung in the air, so thick and heavy that it was almost suffocating.
It was a conditioned reflex, he’d told himself, as shined black leather shoes entered his field of vision; polished to perfection, as if the impeccable shine would be able to hide the stains of the owner's past actions.
Dr. Brenner had come to a stop right before him. “Healthy competition.” He reiterated, derision lining his words as he shook his head in disappointment. “We both know that you are more than capable of acting on your own intentions when required, don’t we?”
‘The other man couldn’t have stopped you if you truly intended to step in.’ Had been the unspoken words.
“His brain was nearly turned to mush!” He'd raised his voice then, his rage manifesting in a thunderous roar.
Peter visibly flinched, but if the man had noticed his reaction, he said nothing of it, continuing.
“I placed you here for a reason, Peter. What good are you, if you fail to guard those who come after?”
Primal, instinctual fear sank deep into Peter’s very bones, curling deep into the pit of his stomach and leaving it in knots. And while the fear should have been anything but tangible, Peter felt it take shape, its invisible tendrils slithering around his person, constricting around his limbs and shackling him in place; crucifying him before the one who held the cards of his fate.
Each second that ticked by felt heavier than the last, and he had to fight every inch of his being to keep his voice from wavering. To stop the minute trembling in his hands as he gripped them tightly behind his back, his nails biting crescent moons into his palms.
“Have you grown so complacent in your new role that you've forgotten your place?” The doctor bent his head, his words taking on a slight mocking lilt as he assessed what had been his finest work, once. His greatest pride.
Peter didn’t like the lilt that his voice had taken, but fear was a paltry thing when it came to his spite for that man. It did little to curb his sharp tongue as he verbally lashed back. “No, I haven't. As you seem so inclined to remind me at every turn.”
Dr. Brenner’s brows raised at his impertinence, the sides of his mouth turning down into a creased frown. “Oh, but you have. Your freedom comes with its own price, remember?”
The sickly sweet tone he spoke in made Peter feel sick. As if he'd had any say in the matter. He hadn't asked for any of this.
The doctor tilted his head then, his mouth lifting into a gentle curve, as if reproaching a child who'd just spilled milk on the table. “Perhaps we can see about remedying it, hm?”
He nodded towards the two orderlies from the prior entourage that had remained in the rainbow room. Peter recognized them, he realized. They'd been here since his incarceration. They knew about him and his existence here. Which means…
“Wait—” He started as he felt their hands clasp over his arms, iron-clad in their hold. “Anything but that!”
But of course, his pleas went largely ignored as they escorted him out, elsewhere, into an adjacent room. Four walls, all white, as clinical in appearance as always. Two chairs, a table, and the lamp that sat atop the tabletop; the most basic of rooms found everywhere in this lab. And as the reinforced doors swung shut, Peter closed his eyes, bracing himself for his inevitable fate as he was roughly shoved onto his knees.
Dr. Brenner entered after them, bringing out an innocuous-looking device. “Remember this?” It was almost fond, the way he spoke as his fingers brushed over the length of the shell of the electroshock collar.
Peter recognized that device, of course, he did. Though he wished he hadn’t as the cold metal of the collar closed around his neck. He knew that there was only one outcome that could come out of this.
Fear and hatred often came hand in hand, and he was no stranger to either of them. How he yearned to rend this man from the inside out, to crush everything that held him here, and to destroy this place of his nightmares. And if it hadn't been for the tiny little device that the good doctor had implanted into him that made reaching for his powers feel like reaching into the wide gaping maw of the void, he might just have, as the first sparks of electricity made themselves known.
His throat seized at the click of a remote button so inconspicuously held in his tormenter’s hand. Peter screwed his eyes shut, a pained sound escaping him at the burn of the fiery sizzle on his skin.
A few moments passed before Dr. Brenner lifted his finger from the button, giving him a short respite. It had been just a lick, a taste of what was to come.
“Tell me, One. Was it worth it? Your little act of rebellion?” He questioned, but before Peter could do much more than take in a sharp inhalation of breath, he jammed it again, eliciting a sharp cry from his victim. “No, I didn’t think so.”
Electricity tore through his veins once more, setting everything alight. He belatedly realized that the device had been dialed up with the way his muscles instantly seized and convulsed. And if it weren't for the two orderlies who were keeping him restrained and upright, he would have definitely ended up on the ground, groveling at their feet.
His breath came out ragged and harsh, his head hanging down from the strain by the next time he was allowed a moment’s respite. Between the sounds of his own heartbeat pounding in his eardrums and the harsh rattling of his own breathing as he heaved, he vaguely made out the sound of approaching footsteps. Then, he felt his head being lifted by a hand gripping his jaw, forcing him to look upwards.
The contact made Peter's stomach churn in disgust, and he wanted nothing more than to wrest himself away from fingers pressing harshly into his cheeks. They felt cold against his unnaturally heated skin, a byproduct of the shock treatment he'd been subjected to, as they wrenched his head higher to meet a pair of calculating brown eyes.
Peter narrowed his eyes at the man in response, lips drawn back into the beginnings of a snarl despite the watery sheen of unshed tears that had involuntarily started to form. His pain receptors flared in protest. He was starting to feel very much like a cornered animal, hackles raised and bristling.
“I don't want to do this to you, son.” Dr. Brenner said, in a tone so soft that one could've mistaken it for affection. But it sounded oh so wrong to Peter’s ears.
He may have fallen for the platitudes once, in his younger years, when he hadn't known any better, when he hadn't had anyone to turn to. Not that anything had ever changed, but he wasn't so stupid as to continue falling for the same trick twice.
Even with the haze of having his brains unceremoniously scrambled, Peter had to fight the urge to bite the man's fingers off. Although the wild look in his ocean-toned eyes must have vaguely hinted at it, for the doctor had quickly released his hold on his jaw, quickly taking a step back. “You really should have known better than to jeopardize the others.”
“You wanted results.” Peter hissed, his voice scratchy from the burning sting of the collar. “Wasn’t that precisely what you got? Now you know the extent of his abilities.”
He felt the searing metal biting into his throat with every heaving breath he took, a stark reminder that he was still at the mercy of his ‘Papa’, the man with a god complex. But, clearly, his answer hadn’t been what the good doctor had wanted to hear, because the collar zapped him again in warning, much to his chagrin.
“I never once pegged you for a fool, but perhaps this will serve to discourage you from jeopardizing everything.” The doctor warned in a low voice before he turned away with a click of his tongue and a nod at the orderlies who held him in place. “Have at him. Teach him a lesson, but I still want him functional for duty. We can only hope that he learns.”
Some sort of unspoken tacit understanding seemed to pass between the two orderlies before they released their hold on him, watching with jaded expressions as he fell to the ground, writhing. His hands instinctively reached up to his neck, fingers clutching and scrabbling at the metal contraption, as if he had any chance of removing the offending device from his person. Then came the telltale crackle of a taser, and whatever defiance he had left in him instantly evaporated.
His eyes widened in alarm. “No, no, no, please!” He begged, almost hysterical in his panic.
The collar, he could manage, just like any other numbered subject, but the tasers, capable of digging into the other vulnerable parts of his body, brought pain like no other. But whatever he said had clearly fallen on deaf ears as he felt the tasers dig into the exposed skin of his side, promptly sending him spiraling into a pit of hellish flames. His voice cracked under the weight of the agony suffusing his senses, his words reduced into an incoherent babble of broken pleas and pained cries. And this time, he buckled.
Peter curled into himself, or at least, he attempted to, as if making himself smaller would give the men who were currently responsible for tormenting him lesser space to work with. But between the collar and the tasers digging into his skin with equally sharp teeth, it was little more than a futile attempt. Everything blurred into white hot nothingness as his nerves sparked, fizzled, and died. Agonized screams pierced the air as his body twisted at unusual angles in an attempt to escape the ever-hungry burn. He willed for it to be over, the pleas that had previously spilled unbidden from his lips eventually turning into naught but ashes, just like the rest of him.
Would he come out of this whole and in one piece? Or would they finally fry his brains so badly that he, himself, became a liability to the mad scientist’s twisted personal project?
No, of course not. They were sure to find other uses for him even if he’d lost his faculties. His blood, for one, and who knows what else. But he wouldn't have thought about that either, for he was long gone, having retreated into the deepest recesses of his mind while every fiber of his being spasmed and burned like a live wire.
It was a long while before the constant waves of agony stopped. He'd come back to himself slowly, as if his very consciousness itself had turned sluggish. First came his awareness, then came his senses. His vision swam as he attempted to register his surroundings, and he heard what sounded like muted conversations all around him. But in his hazed-over mind, everything sounded so muffled and far away that he might as well not have heard it.
A sharp click sounded close to him, and he vaguely felt a weight being lifted from his neck. The shock collar, he presumed. As the ringing in his ears started to fade, he caught the murmurings of a scant few words that sounded vaguely like ‘Two’, ‘Office’, and ‘a stern hand’ as the people around him started to move away.
The sound of retreating footsteps reverberated through the room for a while more before they disappeared entirely, leaving him alone in the room.
Lying there on the cold tiled floor, hatred burned through his veins like liquid fire as his body jerked and twitched from the aftershocks. But beneath the fury lay something softer, yet just as fierce— a desire. After the ordeal he'd been through, he found himself craving one thing. Something horribly and unfathomably human that felt almost pathetic. He'd yearned for comfort.
Everything in him ached, right down to his very bones, and he could taste the faint metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He flexed his arms then, feeling the numbness in them slowly recede before picking himself up from the ground.
His mind, however sharp it had once been, felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Delirious and weakened, he gathered the pieces of his fractured thoughts with trembling fingers, each white hot and buzzing at the edges. His hazy thoughts flickered then, to the file room he'd taken to spending his breaks in. The place he'd likened to a sanctuary, away from prying eyes and free of the duplicity that plagued his existence. It was peaceful, quiet, and you— you were there.
He knew that he probably shouldn't seek you out, considering the state he was in. Besides, it would only put the spotlight on you if they ever decided to go looking for him. But greed was a human affliction, and Peter was, unfortunately, human despite his innate abilities.
They wouldn’t come for him. Not today. They had left him to lick his wounds. And he wasn’t exactly barred from the file room either. He had an access card, after all. But there was still a camera in the room. Eventually, that light would turn red, and the watchful gaze he detested would be fixated back on him again.
He gave it a moment before staggering to his feet, leaning against the wall for support as every muscle seemed to protest the action. Wincing, he took account of his shaky limbs and flaring nerves. Either way, it wasn’t his first rodeo. He'd lugged himself back to his room in the staff wing before; he could do it again. Plus, the file room was considerably nearer. It would take a while, but he would make it there, he supposed. But… would you even be in?
It was a question that got answered as soon as he got there. Standing before your door, he realized that the room was dark, much to his dismay— you weren't in.
Carding himself in, he sank down onto the floor, grateful for the respite it provided his aching body, however scant. At least here, he'd be away from prying eyes.
Had you gone out for a refill again as always, or was today your day off? He realized that he didn't know what your schedule was like, nor had he thought to ask. Feeling the weariness set in, he closed his eyes, breathing a little easier as he settled.
No matter; he was used to willing the time away. He could wait.
And that was how you'd found him half-hidden in one of the looming shadows near a wall when you eventually came in hours later, having just returned from your trip outside. It was a miracle and a half that management actually approved your request for time off, and while you still had to report back in by the end of the day, it was a welcome break.
You had gotten to visit a few of your old haunts and even managed to pop by the flower field that Peter had once mentioned. Having successfully procured a few blooms as promised, you'd decided to come into the file room in search of a few volumes that were heavy enough to press them for preservation.
He'd noticed the moment you'd entered, a distinct sign being the telltale scent of coffee that had hit the air, strong enough to tickle at his nose, but not sharp enough to be fresh. His eyes cracked open then, something akin to relief washing over him at knowing that you were here. You, on the other hand, almost jumped out of your skin when you saw him just sitting there after turning the lights on, considering how late into the night it was.
You were pretty sure it was at least 10 o’clock at night by now. Had he just been… sitting here alone in the dark?
It struck you then that something was wrong.
“Peter?” You called out to him, only to frown when he'd faintly responded in kind, but otherwise made no effort to move from his spot.
His voice definitely sounded hoarse, and there was a defeated air about him that you weren't sure you liked. You approached his slumped form leaning against the wall, much like the first day you'd found him.
“Hey, hey. What's wrong?” You placed a concerned hand on his shoulder as you knelt down to his level.
That was when you finally got a good look at him.
It was a harrowing sight. He looked completely disheveled, with a glazed-over look in his eye. A far cry from how pristine and put-together he'd usually presented himself. And more concerningly, he looked awfully pallid, his breath rattling unevenly with every exhale. It was almost as if he had just gone through the wringer and back, and somehow still managed to stay in one piece. On the outside, at least.
“It'll pass.” He'd uttered softly, defaulting to the same answer he'd given you the first time around. It was what he'd told himself, so it would be what he told others, and it would suffice.
“What…” You'd let out a gasp then, when the dim light had hit his neck.
His collar hung open, something that should have clued you in from the start; the pale expanse of uncovered skin marred by angry, painful red marks. It was relatively fresh, and the ring around his neck looked almost like… a collar. What sort of sick situation had he been in?
He could hear the muted horror in your voice and feel the tentative way your fingers moved, gently brushing over the bruised skin of his neck. He stiffened, a small sound escaping his lips at the featherlight touch before he instinctively pulled himself away from your reach.
“Uh-uh, don't do that.” He rasped. Wincing at his sensitive throat, Peter captured your hand and lifted it away from his skin, giving your offending limb a soft squeeze before he'd let you go. He trusted you to heed his warning, it seemed.
A broken laugh rumbled through him as he tried to play it off, though it seemed to hurt him more as his vocal chords strained. “Hey… don't look at me like that.”
You noticed the way he seemed to struggle to speak, or to do much more than just sit there, really. Raising a hand, you ran it soothingly along his other arm, feeling his tense frame relax ever so slightly.
“You're hurt.” You stated, bluntly.
“...That, I am.” He replied, a wry smile forming on his face.
All thoughts about your purpose for coming to the file room today fled your mind as concern took hold. Your eyes darted nervously across his face as you assessed him. And the way he didn't seem to want to look you in the eye was… both disheartening and worrisome.
Why hadn't he gotten his injuries looked at?
And while you were no medical professional, you knew that it probably wouldn’t be wise to let wounds fester in the open air. It was late now, but perhaps there was a nurse on night shift that he could get them looked at by? Otherwise, you could work something out if you had some medical supplies on hand.
“You don't look too well, Peter. We should go to the Infirmary to get that seen to, at least.” You coaxed, gesturing at his neck.
“No.” He shook his head, unwilling to leave.
Well, you weren't going to force him to go to the Infirmary either if he didn't want to.
You hesitated for a moment before remembering that the file room should have a medkit stored somewhere in one of the shelves. Every room was equipped with one, just in case. You'd just have to find it. And while your first aid skills weren't exactly the best… he'd just have to live with it. Better to treat it than to do nothing at all, but maybe you could get him off the floor for starters? It couldn't be terribly comfortable sitting on the hard tiles for however long he'd been here.
You moved away to make more space to work with, drawing your other hand back so that you could help him to a chair, at least. But it was clear that Peter had gotten the wrong message, for his hand instantly shot out before you could get too far, capturing your wrist and drawing you to a halt.
“Peter?” You questioned, uncertainty coloring your voice at the highly unusual reaction. His eyes were finally trained on you now, but whatever light lurked in their depths seemed almost frantic in nature.
His hand… it was shaking as his fingers tightened their hold on you. And for as long as you'd known him, he was seldom the first to initiate contact. But before you could give it another thought, he'd tugged you forward so violently that you'd nearly toppled into him. His arms wound around your frame like a snake, his fingers clutching onto you like a lifeline. Almost as if he was afraid you'd disappear the moment he let go.
“Stay, please.” Came the soft, hoarse plea, his voice resonating in your ear as he drew you closer towards him.
Fear was an old friend of his, but maybe… Maybe, just for a moment, he could close his eyes and pretend that everything was fine. The room helped settle his nerves, and your presence beside him was comforting enough that he could will everything away as he retreated into his own little bubble.
Even so, the way he winced at your wandering fingers as you placed your arms around him belied his actual condition. You had a sinking feeling that the wounds that you saw were little more than the tip of the iceberg. His breath hitched when you'd unwittingly brushed against a tender spot on his side. He'd let out a stuttering exhale then, his fingers tensing against your arm.
What more had he suffered? What other wounds had there been, inflicted upon his person?
“Peter…” You breathed, “You’re shaking an awful lot.”
He cursed your perceptiveness, having thought that the initial tremors had already worn off, even if his nerves were still as frayed as they'd come. And worst still, he could hear the worry in your voice. And for the first time, he noticed how that didn't sit well with him.
“I just haven't been held in a long time.” He'd mumbled ever so softly, burying his head in the crook of your neck.
He'd hoped that you'd buy it. It was a flimsy excuse that sounded weak even to his own ears, but it was true. He didn't remember the last time he'd last felt a touch quite in this manner. One that brought neither harm nor wrought painful memories.
The ends of his hair tickled at your skin as you brought a hand up to pat his head in response. Unfortunately, it seemed to have only made him tighten his hold on you, and for someone so lithe, his arms sure held strength…
Peter remained there, leaning against you, content to remain like this for a while, until he'd caught a whiff of something. A sharper scent that clung faintly to your skin, overshadowed by the usual earthy undertones he'd associated with your presence. It tickled his nose. Crisp, like fresh cut grass that reminded him of the sun and a midday's warmth. Then came something softer, floral… familiar.
“Lavender.” He breathed.
—You'd been outside.
“Someone’s been busy today... Enjoyed the fields, hm?” He turned his head slightly, his breath brushing against your skin. “Got anything for little ol’ me?”
He looked like he'd just barely gotten out of whatever hellhole he'd just climbed out of by the skin of his teeth, and that's what he was concerned about?
A huff of laughter escaped you at the irony of it. “Don’t worry, I managed to sneak a few blooms in. You'll get one once it's ready.”
“Oh?”
And as the forming smile crept up on him while you continued gently carding your fingers soothingly through his hair, sanctuary wasn't the location, he realized, but rather wherever you were. The banter made him feel safe, as odd as that may sound, even to him. Perhaps now, he could let his guard down— Here, in the room with you.
His expression morphed into a rueful one, bittersweet and mocking. If he’d thought you his sanctuary, then what would it spell for him, should Dr. Brenner find out about how close you two have gotten? You’d simply be a pawn to keep him here, no doubt. The eccentric man was willing to do everything in his power to see his vision come to fruition, no matter how unethical the methods he had to employ.
‘His little pet project, back under his grasp. Now, wouldn’t he like that…’ Peter thought bitterly, his lips curling in slight distaste.
Which was funny to think about, considering how he was twenty-odd years of age, still called the doctor ‘Papa’ and was continuously subjected and subjugated by the same fear he'd felt as a teen. He'd hated how small it made him feel.
If control through fear from the tested and proven carrot and stick method he'd loved to employ on his subjects hadn't been enough, the doctor now had a reason to keep him in place. To force him to do his bidding, even without the artificial limiter that had been the Soteria.
‘No.’
The tiny device embedded under his skin itched as something reared up in him then. A predator long subdued, now awakened.
‘He’ll never know.’
His captor would be no wiser if he kept it— whatever you two had going on, under wraps. So what if he had a friend within these walls? A little piece of comfort in his life of suffering? A hand to pull him out of the rapids as he'd sunk deeper into a bottomless pit?
He'd sworn then. It didn't matter what he had to do— Papa would never know about you; the little fragment of light that had managed to creep through the walls of Dr. Brenner’s impenetrable white-walled fortress and into his undeniably bleak life. Like a stubborn thorn in his side that he could not rid himself of… Nor did he want to, he thinks.
‘I won’t let him.’
Conviction rose within him, unyielding and strong. Fueled by his hatred that burned as brightly as a thousand suns.
Peter, whose smile could wash away all sins, like an angel sent from the heavens itself; his white attire a halo, his wings a carefully curated assortment of hidden blades, and his number… He knew that it was an eventuality that would come to pass. You'd find out someday. But until then, he’d shield your eyes from the truth with his own hands and play the role that had been bestowed upon him.
—A simple unsuspecting orderly.
