#Sebastien le Livre imagin

[fangirlings-things]

Being a member of the Guard and having a love/hate relationship with Booker would include headcanons

anon said: hey! Can I please have some hc about being a member of the old guard and having a love and hate relationship with Booker? Something like you wrote in your other imagine. hope this is okay, thank you!

A/N: hii, love! of course it's okay! I love Booker, so it's always a pleasure to write for him! hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST IS OPEN

The thing about Booker, is that he has a talent to annoy you

Ever since you two first met, the french man showed you that temper that would just drive you crazy, unstoppably

It is as if he takes pleasure in contradicting you, and that of course, makes you want to kill him

Which you actually did, more than once

Everytime the team gets together for a job, he presents you that convinced smile of his and with irony, says how much he has missed you

You absolutely cannot work in plans together, since you always end up at each other's throats, more arguing than anything else

You do work fine together in the field, but you strongly believe that is because killing people do not require for you both to actually communicate

If you had a huge fight, you would give each other threatening looks later while sharing a meal with the others

Andy is annoyed by your bickering at each other. She is the boss and when she says so, you both stop fighting at the very same instant and do whatever she tells you to

Nicky and Nile mostly just roll their eyes at all the swearing and argument you have with each other, from time to time muttering to themselves how you both are such childs when it comes to one another

Joe finds it funny. He can't stop laughing whenever you both start screaming, shouting your lungs out because of something probably stupid, like who would get to go in first at the job

When Nicky asks him about it, he just says the fun is in the fact that you both don't see what's right in your faces

Occasionally, after a harsh job or just a bad day for both, you would allow yourselves to share a drink together in silence, just hoping for the alcohol to kick in soon

Whenever Booker spoke about his sons and all the grief he still felt after so much time, you wouldn't be able to deny to yourself how bad you felt for him and you would hug him, comfort him, even though you would later pretend that never happened

And he would pretend it either, even though that meant a lot to him. The fact that you cared

For some time, you would give yourselves a break from each other. But then, all of the sudden, the fighting and screaming would come back and in Nile's words, "everything would go back to normal"

And Joe woud laugh again at that and when it happened, Andy would be the one to ask why he was laughing, how he could find that funny. And for that, looking at his boss, he would say

"Me and Nicky were exactly like that in the beginning. Don't you remember it, boss?"

[lazaefair]

"Shots" by Imagine Dragons

Directed by @astrabear, produced by me

[ongreenergrasses]

Okay last one I swear but Andy/Booker kiss for #20 PLS 👀🫣

you always pick the best prompts i have to say

20. …on a scar

Booker noticed it early on. It was impossible not to see, really, and the only reason he didn’t was because they met in Siberia and there was no reason (at first) for him to see Andy’s naked back in Siberia.

Booker doesn’t even understand how she could’ve survived a wound like that. It’s at least six inches running down her spine, between her shoulder blades. It had to have happened before she died. It should’ve killed her.

Andy doesn’t mention it. She never mentions it, and the one time Booker brings it up to Joe, he just shrugs. “Never said,” Joe says, and they leave it at that.

They’re in bed. Booker’s still panting. Andy’s lying on her stomach next to him, annoyingly smug, and before Booker can overthink it, he leans over and presses a kiss to the back of her neck, and then kisses his way down, down between her shoulder blades, down along the line of the scar.

Andy tenses and he immediately stops. “Boss?”

“It’s fine,” she says, but she’s still tense, and he sits back.

“How’d you survive that?”

“Nearly didn’t,” she says.

Booker waits.

“It was the first time my mother tried to kill me,” Andy says finally. “I thought it was an accident, and then she succeeded.”

“And you came back.”

“And I came back.”

Booker leans over slowly and presses a kiss to the scar again. He feels Andy shiver underneath him. “Glad you survived,” he said. “And I’m glad you came back.”

send a kiss

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Part 12]

Booker deals with the aftermath of losing you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @city-of-weird​, @all-the-right-regrets, @alannister-always-pays-her-debts​, @fleetwoodsmacabitch​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: captaindelafere

The immortals brought Booker to a different safe house. While they restrained Quynh and sedated her, he paced the front room, agonizing. He could still hear the crack of the gunshot, your body collapsing to the asphalt.

He should’ve gone back to you.

Andy and the others emerged from the back room to see Booker rummaging through cupboards for liquor. He found a half-empty vodka bottle. Scrambling to unscrew the lid, he lifted it to his mouth.

Hesitated.

Drinking wouldn’t solve this problem. He knew that he would need all his wits.

He slammed the bottle down on the table, the alcohol untasted, and raked both hands through his hair, roaring with frustration. Only then did he notice the others were watching him.

“Quynh alright?” he asked.

Andy nodded slowly.

“Then I’ll leave.” He snatched up his jacket.

“Where will you go?”

Booker didn’t meet Nile’s curious gaze. “I’m going after her.”

“Why?” Joe asked.

Booker tried to answer, found he didn’t have words. Why? He couldn’t put it into words, not when he didn’t really know himself. But he managed, “When I found her, she was all alone in a room. For ten years.”

A hushed silence fell over the room.

“She isn’t an immortal, but she did this for me. To…” To let me be with you all. He slipped on the jacket. “I’m not letting someone else down.”

He scurried away before anyone could say anything, averting his eyes.

~~

It took him a week to gather enough intel to even consider making a move. Booker sat in a cheap motel room surrounded by it, mounds of printed schematics and schedules, a paper trail guaranteeing nothing but destruction. Despair crept in, anxiety taunting him. The bottle called to him. It took all his energy to not succumb to it.

His research had found you had been returned back to the same location, only there was no guarantee you were in the same room he had broken you out from. Security had been tightened, and his face was in their system now, picked up by one of the cameras inside that he had missed on the way out.

Booker nearly pulled his hair out. No matter how he examined the problem, he couldn’t crack it. Not without getting captured in the process or getting you killed.

Assuming you weren’t dead already.

He hadn’t yet been able to determine whether you were alive or were being dissected. Every bad movie he had seen about brainwashing and mad scientists played on repeat in his head as he imagined the horrors you were being subjected to.

Nine days after you had taken the fall on the tarmac, he decided it was worth the suicide mission. He didn’t have a full plan, and as much as that frighten him, he was going to go ahead anyway.

Dressing in black once more, he armed himself with a tactical knife, a FN SCAR, and a Beretta. He brought only two clips for the handgun and three for the assault rifle. He would have preferred a crowd-control method, but everyone else would be armed to the teeth. He couldn’t risk it.

Steeling himself, he left the motel under cover of darkness, headlights doused until he reached the road. He ran the plan through his head again and again, ignoring the flaws, telling himself all he had to do was get to you. From there, escape would be inevitable. It had to be.

His cellphone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled it out, saw the number was unknown. He hesitated, then answered.

“Booker?” Andy’s voice rang clearly through the phone.

“Andy?”

“We’re on your tail.”

He glanced up in the rearview mirror. Headlights flashed twice.

“We’re here to help,” she said.

Tears pushed at Booker’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“What’s the plan?”

“I need a distraction. A massive one.”

~~

Booker waited for it. The night breeze tickled his cheeks, toying with him. Crickets had gone silent around him, as though in anticipation.

BOOM!

The sky exploded into flame, huge gouts licking the darkness. Alarms blared, soldiers scrambling to the scene.

Booker sprinted in the opposite direction, into the compound. He pushed past the security checkpoints, capitalizing on the chaos to go by unnoticed. Following the same path as before, he made his way to the basement levels.

He had to shimmy down the elevator shaft. Without the key card to call it up, it was the only way down. Climbing through the access panel in the elevator’s roof, he muscled open the sliding doors and slipped out into the long hallway. He hurried to the far end and shot off the doorknob, allowing him to enter.

Empty.

His heart plummeted into his stomach. He swept the room, double-checking. All your personal effects—the books, primarily—were gone.

Booker fought the urge to scream. He stepped out of the room, kicking himself. The gunshot rang in his ears again, the image of you collapsing flashing before him. He leaned against the wall, raked his hand over his face.

“FUCK!”

He punched the wall, broke his hand. The pain reminded him of the first time he had been here. Tears burned in his eyes.

A faint tapping reached through the pulsing in his ears as he struggled with his grief. Through his addled mind, he recognized the beats and pauses of Morse code.

He straightened.

Here, the code tapped.

Booker faced the wall behind him, heard the code repeat. Scrutinizing the wall, he found a near-invisible seam ran from ceiling to floor. Booker ran his fingers along it, trying to find purchase. Pulling out his knife, he slid the tip along the edge, flaking away concrete. The knife snagged on something. Through the crack, he saw metal glinting.

The tapping resumed. Lock.

Mind racing, Booker retreated into your cell and came back with one of the chairs. He started ramming it at a fort-five degree angle against the wall, tearing at the concrete.

Cement dust filled the air, choking him. It covered his skin as he tore chunks out of the wall, revealing the locking mechanism. Rather than attacking where the lock engaged, he found where it had been anchored into the wall and tore it loose. Grunting and heaving, he yanked the lock out of the jamb.

Fingers reached through the hole, pulling on the door. Booker shoved his shoulder against it, pushing it slowly open.

Light fell through the darkness beyond the door, illuminating your dust-covered face. Booker nearly choked with relief. You stared up at him in disbelief.

“I’m here to get you out,” he said. “Again.”

You grinned, your lips trembling. Squeezing through the gap, you stumbled out into the bright light, blinking furiously.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

Your face hardened. “There’s something I have to do first.”

Booker nodded. “Tell me how to help.”

[luminarai]

andy, 15 mins earlier seeing this sign at a construction site: booker we need to steal that sign, I just had the funniest fucking idea

(just thinking about that one cast interview where they revealed marwan fucked up the most action scenes)

[brightly-painted-canvas]

Discoveries while grocery shopping are the best discoveries.

+ Bonus Booker

(btw I’m not crazy this toilet paper exists at least here in Italy and I may have bought it thinking I’m the most hilarous person in the world)

[stark-park]

The Old Guard

Believer - Imagine Dragons

[myriadimagines]

Hi Sam! Could I request a drabble with Booker from The Old Guard using the prompts “Did I just see you smile?” and “I love it when you laugh.”

Characters: Reader x Sebastien ‘Booker’ le Livre

Warnings: alcohol

Prompt: 08. “Did I just see you smile?” & 61. “I love it when you laugh.”

Word Count: 498

The visit was unexpected. The rest of the members of the Old Guard are scattered, living their lives all around the planet until their next assignment would inevitably bring them together. So the knock at his door puts him on edge — most things do nowadays. The routine is simple, no response, no noise, reach for his gun. He doesn’t even have time to reach for the gun before your voice calls out on the other side of the door, “It’s me, Booker.”

He lets out a sigh, almost irritated, and lets his hand fall to his side. He pulls open the door and comes face to face with you, lifting up a bottle of wine as an offering. 

“I thought you were in Vietnam.” Booker remarks, leaning up against the doorframe, and you shrug.

“Got bored.” you laugh, and Booker shakes his head as he steps aside to let you in. Booker doesn’t know how you have the energy for it, constantly moving around, while he spends most days holed up in his apartment, trying to live day to day grasping at some sense of normalcy. You glance around his apartment, nodding as you pipe up, “Looks nice. Different from last time.”

“I’ve been getting into interior design.” Booker deadpans, strolling to his kitchen. You snort with laughter as you sit down on his couch, and Booker tries to hide his smile in the cabinets as he pulls out two wine glasses and his wine opener. He’s still smiling as he turns around, and your own smile seems to widen at the sight of him. You know most days are hard for Booker, and seeing him smiling, seeing him happy is enough to lift your own spirits.

“Did I just see you smile?” you tease as Booker approaches you, and you hand the bottle to Booker as he sets the glasses down. He shakes his head at you, trying to avoid eye contact as he focuses on the bottle. You’re still looking up at him as he pops out the cork, and he leans down to pour the both of you a glass.

There’s a quietness that fills the apartment as the wine sloshes into the glasses, Booker focuses on how the liquid twirls around the cups. Finally, he quietly confesses, “I love it when you laugh.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re almost not surprised at this revelation. For as long as you’ve known Booker, you’ve felt like the two of you have danced around unspoken feelings, of teasing flirting that always feels like a facade for something deeper. Booker still can’t meet your gaze as he sets the bottle down, his own heart racing as he’s afraid to see your reaction. 

You suddenly leap up from the couch, and before Booker can react, he feels your hands around his face, pulling him towards you as you press your lips against his in a long awaited kiss. And Booker doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back. 

[mearchy]

i’m sure we’ve talked about this but i still find it hilarious that copley has probably spent so long building up this image of the old guard as these immortal warriors, basically gods, totally untouchable. 

then he works for them for years and sees that like, nicky spills soup on his shirt every single time he eats soup and will not stop acting like an old italian grandpa who is concerned about everyone not eating enough and keeps trying to wrap people in blankets (”are you cold? its cold. have another sweater.”); joe cries over every single cliché romance movie ending even when he’s seen the movie before and also gets teary-eyed over pictures of baby animals and sometimes will just like, stop and stare at a leaf for a long time bc he thinks it’s pretty; andromache the scythian does not understand a single goddamn thing about electronics, thinks every button is an on/off button, regularly gets into screaming matches with ordinary household appliances, and also eats an amount of sugar that someone would expect of a five year old with an infinite budget set loose in a candy aisle; booker is.... yeah; and nile is literally a 26 (?) year old kid with huge balls who knows just about as much as copley about the whole thing. 

i j wonder just how long (or not long) it would take for him to be like. oh. oh. so they’re just... ok. 

[regina-del-cielo]

I’m sorry but the implication that the mercs should have scrubbed Booker’s bloody and mangled body from the armchair and taking him to the lab... It’s absolutely sending me

[fangirlings-things]

requested by anon || GIF IS NOT MINE || TAG LIST IS OPEN || A/N: the gif indicates a female reader but the rest of the imagine is written gender neutral. hope you like it, love 💖

They had always been very protective of you. Not because you couldn't defend yourself, in fact, you were quite extraordinary in a fight. But when you had died for the first time, you were young. Very young. And so, you hadn't aged more since then. Even Booker, who was a couple of hundred years younger than you, treated you like a little sibling. And honestly, you couldn't say you didn't like that.

Now, with the church's safe house almost completely destroyed and you gone, taken, they all felt worry fill the entirety of their bodies. They thought about those people hurting you, torturing you for what you were. They needed to stop them. Fast.

"We're going after them" Andy said in a fierce, angered tone. She loaded a gun and placed it behind her back with two single movements that exhaled rage. She looked at Nicky, who had his face turned to the ground and his jaw clenched, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're getting (Y/N) back"

"If they hurt—" Booker interrupted himself in the middle of the sentence, sucking in a deep breath as he angrily kicked a broken wooden bench of the church.

"Don't" Joe let out a heavy sight, referring to what Booker had just began to say. The idea terrified him.

"Come on, guys" Nile looked at all of them, also sighting. She had known you for just a bit, but as she looked at the others, she saw how much they loved you. How much they all needed you around. "Let's do this"

[goldheartedsky]

Just absolutely HAUNTED now by the canon confirmation that Booker never wanted to hurt the team, never wanted to kill himself, never wanted to die at all!!!

He just wanted to be mortal and have a normal life—a real life—with Andy

I am Unwell™️

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Thirteen: A Simple Lover’s Quarrel

AN: Can’t believe I abandoned this story for two, three months. Then again, I only got three notes on the last chapter so that was a little disheartening which made me want to take a break. But I’m back now and slightly reinvigorated to write again.

Word Count: 4.0k

Trigger Warnings: offensive language, racial slurs, racism

Taglist: @nerds4life246, @leahnicole1219​

Chapter Fourteen: Welcome Home, Sabine Freemen

"Really Miss Jones, you didn't have to go out of your way to check on Mama," Emile stated.

In all her years, Sabine had carried out worse plans before than the one she hastily concocted last night in bed.

Sabine smiled a little, "I was concerned, your mother seemed so wound up yesterday and I felt obligated to check on her well being," she explained.

"How did you find our home?" Emile asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, your mother had said your first name and then your surname. I put two and two together and... " Sabine answered, before trailing off as Emile raised her eyebrows in anticipation. "Let's just say I'm an extremely determined young woman," she finished, with a nod and smiling slightly.

Just then, a maid entered the parlor room holding a silver tray in her hands. Another maid followed behind her, with saucers for milk and sugar. Emile had them place the trays on the table and dismissed them with a gracious smile.

"Miss Jones, would you care for tea?" she asked, taking the teapot in her hands.

"Yes, please," Sabine responded.

She looked around the sitting room, the home seemed quite similar to their hideout in some aspects. And in others, well, it was quite clear the immortals didn't have a decorator come in and acquire furniture in some expensive European store in Philadelphia.

"You have a lovely home Miss Freemen," Sabine commented, bringing her attention back to her older sister.

"Actually, it's Mrs. Freemen," she corrected, a soft chuckle escaping her. "You wouldn't believe how many other Freemen's you'll meet in New York," she added, as she finished pouring the amber liquid into their cups. "Thank you though, this home is big enough for Mama, Papa, and my family," Emile stated.

"Your father?" Sabine questioned, trying to keep her best poker face at the revelation.

"Mhmm," Emile hummed, stirring her sugar and milk into the tea. "It is quite an improvement from a raggedy slave shack, wouldn't you say?" she asked, lifting her cup to her lips and Sabine could only nod. "Papa didn't think he would live to see the day that colored folks would be able to live as dignified citizens of this country, and hold a dignified job being dressmakers," Emile explained, bringing her cup down.

"And here you are,"

"And here we are,"

"Do you have any more family?" Sabine asked curiously, as if Emile wasn't literally talking to her sister.

"I have a husband named Lee, he's out of state on a business trip. I have two sons, Jimmy and Phillip. My oldest, Phillip, lives in Chicago and practices medicine. Jimmy, he's about your age. He's down in D.C. studying at Howard University, he'll be home soon. Lastly, I have...had a..." Emile said, her voice lowering.

"A younger sister?" Sabine supplied quietly.

"Yes," she whispered, placing her teacup and saucer down onto the table with a soft clack. "Sabine, she was only five when she was taken from us, Mama never forgave herself," Emile stated.

"But why? Your mother can't possibly blame herself for her child being ripped away from her," Sabine said.

"You see, the day that Sabine was taken, we were supposed to runaway at night and go up North," Emile explained. "Mama has agonized over the question of 'what if we left the night before?' ever since," she finished, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Sabine said softly. "Do you think she's alive still?" she questioned, trying to gauge Emile's reaction.

"In my heart, I want to believe that's she still here, that she escaped. But, my mind is also telling me to be logical, and that is no, little Sabine didn't survive enslavement," she replied. "She could be a feisty five year old, you know?" Emile said, a watery smile on her face. "And feisty slaves don't last long on plantations," she reminded grimly.

It was quiet after Emile's haunting statement, Sabine felt as though she lost her appetite. A feisty slave she was, and Emile was right, they don't last long. Sabine knew from firsthand experience. Suddenly, the door opened and Emile and Sabine both jumped back from the table slightly.

"Mrs. Freemen—"

"Goodness gracious," Emile breathed, placing her hand on her chest. "You scared the living daylights out of us," she laughed, and shook head.

"A'm sorry ma'am, but there's an ofay-I mean, white man at the door," the maid announced. "He said he's here to collect Miss Jones and return her home," she continued, glancing over at Sabine.

"Thank you, I'll see my guest to the door," Emile responded, the girl bowed her head and left the room again.

"I presume that this is the same ofay from yesterday?" Emile questioned, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Sabine laughed softly, "Yes, it is," she admitted. "But in his defense, Mr. Greene is alright for an ofay," she joked, standing up from her seat.

"Is he your husband?" Emile inquired, lifting her brow as stood as well.

"No," Sabine answered quickly, a nervous chuckle coming from her. "Thank you for hosting me Mrs. Freeman-"

"Pfft," Emile said, waving her hand. "Please, call me Emile,"

She smiled, "I know I showed up to your home uninvited and completely unexpected," Sabine stated, offering her hand for Emile to take.

Sabine waited for the woman to take her hand, but instead Emile softly grabbed her by the shoulders and kept her at an arms length.

"You know, I can see why Mama could mistake for you for our Sabine," Emile commented, tilting her head to the side. "You do have my sister's eyes," she mused, sighing wistfully. "Do come back and visit us again Miss Jones. I would love for you to meet the rest of my family and reintroduce to Mama when she's less hysterical," Emile joked, removing her hands from Sabine.

"I would like that, very much!" Sabine stated, vigorously nodding her head. "And please, you can call me Edith,"

~~~x~~~

Josef and Sabine strolled through Central Park arm in arm, passing a duck pond as they went. The park was fluttering with life: little girls playing hopscotch, children rolling hoops, nannies pushing baby carriages, couples walking together, and a policeman patrolling the area. Silently, he sent Josef and Sabine a pointed looked as if to wordlessly say, he's watching them.

"How did it go yesterday?" Josef asked, directing his attention towards Sabine. "Was it bad? You practically locked yourself in your room once you got back," he pointed out.

Sabine twirled her parasol, "No, actually it all went really splendid," she answered, smiling wistfully. "It was just a little overwhelming, as one could imagine. I needed some time to myself, that's all,"

"And did you tell Booker about your plan before you took off yesterday morning?"

Sabine shook her head, "Look, I came back in the afternoon and he wasn't there-" she started.

"Yes, because he was searching like a madman to find where you gone," Josef cut in, lightly chuckling.

The sound of a crack of the bat could be heard far off in the distance, a game of baseball was being played as spectators cheered in encouragement.

"I wrote down my sister's address and handed it to Nicky for when Bastien inevitably came back home," Sabine continued, tilting the parasol to shield her eyes more. "And he did," she finished.

"That must of been an interesting walk back home," he commented, with a grin.

"I told him, if he had nothing nice to say then I rather not hear him say anything," she replied. "I suggested he air his grievances elsewhere," she said.

"Oh, he did," Josef smiled, nodding his head.

"What did he say about me?"

"In short, he said what you did was rash, irresponsible, and above all else," he listed, lifting a finger in the air. "He was afraid that your expectations were set too high and that you would be heavily disappointed with what you found,"

"Aww," Sabine smiled. "Even when Bastien is angry with me, he still looks out for my best interests. It warms the heart," she said, giving her parasol another twirl.

"Of course he would, he does love you, you know," Josef replied.

"Yes, I know," she laughed softly.

"Now, I'm going to go that ice vendor to see if I can convince him to let me buy two lemon ices," Josef stated.

Sabine followed his stare to a plump, middle-aged man that had a straw boater on top of his dark hair. A handlebar mustache adorned his face and was waxed to perfection.

She looked back at Josef, "I bid thee good luck then," Sabine joked, as she unlinked her arm for his.

Shooting her a grin, he tilted his brown hat towards her before walking off to the vendor leaving her to her own devices. Sabine subtly rocked and forth on her feet, watching people moseying about on the promenade. She made the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with an older woman who scowled at her almost instantly. Sabine averted hers eyes away and in the direction of little boys playing marbles, the last thing she needed was some old, white woman making a scene over a supposed slight against her.

Suddenly, a grimy hand gripped Sabine by the wrist and she whipped her head around.

It was a haggard man dressed in a tattered Union army uniform, his hair matted and she could see a wild look in his eyes.

"Spare a penny for a vet ma'am?" he asked, his gray irises boring into her.

Sabine glanced around in a futile effort for help, even if "help" did come, she would not be on the receiving end of it. She returned her stare towards the vet, her eyes widening when she realized the left sleeve to his soiled jacket did not house an arm in it, he was an amputee.

"I-I uh, don't have anything to spare, I'm sorry sir," Sabine said, trying to wrestle her wrist from his grip.

His grip tightened, "What do you mean you don't have change to spare?" he questioned, growing angry. "I fought for your people to be free and this is how you repay me!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry sir but I don't have anything to give," Sabine repeated, successfully snatching her wrist away.

The vet sneered, "Uppity negro bitch!" he spat, before hobbling away to beg elsewhere.

Sabine placed her hand on her chest to still her pounding heart, briefly closing her eyes and exhaling deeply.

"Look at what I got!" Josef cheered happily, his voice approaching her. "Two lemon ices, I think my Italian impressed the vendor, he's probably never seen a colored man that spoke the language fluently," he chuckled, as Sabine reopened her eyes. "It's not Delmonico's, the lucky bastards," Josef continued, referring to Nicky, Andy, and Bastien who were meeting someone that had work for them. "Sabine, are you alright?"

"Better now, I was accosted by a man-"

"Where is he?" Josef cut in, his expression turning serious.

Sabine closed her parasol and hanged it from her wrist, "Don't," she warned, taking the frozen treat from him and linking arms. "He's a homeless war vet and white, you're not going to win this fight," Sabine stated, patting his bicep.

"I was just goin-"

"No, what we're going to do is imagine all the meals we would be eating right now if we were allowed into Delmonico's," Sabine corrected, looking up at him expectantly. "I'll start, I want lamb chops, whole plates of them,"

Josef turned away from her and looked down the path in hopes of finding the assailant, but he was long gone, lost within the crowd of people.

Sabine tugged on his arm, "Indulge me, please," she said softly.

He sighed heavily and began leading her away, "I want a steak," he stated, making Sabine giggle. "A big, juicy steak,"

"And what would you have with that steak of yours?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, the creamiest mashed potatoes one could dream of,"

~~~x~~~

Within the time frame of less than a week, this evening marked the night that Sabine was going to meet the rest of her family. During her afternoon tea with her sister yesterday, Emile had told Sabine that her husband and son were both coming home today and she wanted her to meet them. Not to mention, Emile had also believed that enough time had passed that Mama had recovered from the shock of seeing Sabine, and they could be properly introduced now.

"Can you tie this?" Sabine asked, looking over her shoulder.

Her bedroom was illuminated by the few kerosene lamps that sat on top of her dressers. Sabine heard movement behind her before feeling fingers slowly trail down her back and began to lace up her corset.

"You never dress this way for me," Bastien complained.

She chuckled softly, "We don't go anywhere that I'd have to," Sabine pointed out, feeling him tug on her from behind. "Plus, you're dressed to the nines yourself," she reminded, glancing over her shoulder. "You never dress this way for me either," she added, wincing a bit when Bastien pulled the laces tight around her torso.

"Sorry," he apologized immediately, noticing her body tense. "I wish we could dress up more like this," Bastien stated, finishing his work.

"Technically, we could," Sabine responded, affixing a bustle to herself.

Bastien made his way towards her bed where her evening gown was laid out. The dress was green and made of silk taffeta, the neckline was round and the sleeves short. Making his way back towards her, Sabine raised her hands in the air as Bastien lifted it over her head, careful not to mess up her elegant updo. The dress slid on easily and a vast of silk fell onto the floor, covering her feet and trailing behind her.

"Yes, but I want to actually take you somewhere," Bastien said, buttoning the back of her dress. "I want to take you somewhere special, to show you off to the world, without all the stares and scowls," he finished, kissing Sabine's neck.

Sabine turned around and faced Bastien, "Like the two of us being able to sit together in box seats at the opera?" she hinted, with a slight chuckle as she smoothed the dress down around her undergarments.

"Sabine if I could, you know I would," he insisted, grasping her waist.

"I know, I know," Sabine replied, nodding her head understandingly. "This job is a 'whites only' type of a job, meaning Josef and I are out commission. While you three get to infiltrate high society and all the luxuries that come with it," she continued, lightly gripping onto the lapels of his tailcoat. "Have fun with all those stuffy, rich ofays," she wished, a smile peeking from her lips. "Josef and I will enjoy dinner with my family," she finished.

"About this dinner..."

Sabine looked downward, "You don't agree, I know," she said, finishing his sentence with a sigh.

"It's not that," Bastien corrected, lifting her chin to look at him. "I'm worried you're moving too fast, that you're losing yourself in the moment," he explained, enclosing his fingers around her biceps.

"Well of course I am," she agreed. "This is a second chance at being a family-"

"Sabine you're immortal," he interrupted softly, Sabine's mouth opened to argue. "Please let me finish," he requested. "You cannot recreate or rebuild the relationship you once had with your family," Bastien stated firmly, shaking his head.

She looked away from him, biting down her lip. Sabine felt her nose burn with the tears she was holding back from Bastien's bluntness.

"I can try," she countered, her voice cracking.

Bastien took her chin in his hand again and turned her face to him, "I'm sorry, Sabine. I'm so, so sorry, but you can't," he said, cupping her cheeks in both his palms.

"It's not fair," she choked, tears threatening to fall.

Bastien wrapped his arms around her, holding her head to his chest while he stroked her back.

"I know you want this reunion to be like a fairy tale, where you get your happily ever after," he began. "But we don't get those, and I'm sorry fate has chosen this path for you, because you don't deserve it Sabine. You don't," he finished, looking at her sadly.

Tears that she promised herself wouldn't show start to flow down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumbs. Sabine let her forehead rest against Bastien as he held her. She was sure Bastien could feel her crying. They stood in silence for several minutes, save for the occasional sniffle from her. When she shed her last tears, she removed her head from his chest slightly.

"I just want this so badly, Bastien," Sabine said, her voice above a whisper. "It's a bittersweet dream come true,"

"I know," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Sabine sighed, resting her head on Bastien's heart, her grip tightening a little around him.

"I know I don't express my love verbally," she began, slowly bringing her gaze upwards to Bastien. "But I do love you, Bastien," Sabine stated. "And I'm grateful that you're being supportive towards me, even if you disagree," she finished.

Bastien let out a soft exhale, his eyes shining in such a way that Sabine never seen before. Cupping the back of her neck with his other hand, Bastien leaned down and placed a light kiss on Sabine's lips, so tender. The kiss was not deep, they only moved their lips against each other’s slowly. After a few more sweet kisses he pulled back once again to rest his forehead against hers.

He smiled warmly, "Say it again," Bastien said.

"I love you Bastien," Sabine repeated, softly grinning. She kissed him again on the lips. "I love you," she kissed him on his right cheek. "I love you," she kissed him on his left cheek. "I love you," Sabine stood on her tiptoes, kissing his nose and forehead. "I love you..." she whispered, capturing Bastien's lips once more.

Tilting her head, Sabine deepened the kiss and Bastien returned the gesture in equal vigor. His hand traveled from her neck and down to her waist, lightly wrapping around it. Slowly, they parted from one another and she stared into his blue orbs, seeing them gleam. Sabine wondered what it was about Bastien that made her feel this way, was it his loyalty, his compassion, or his devotion. Whatever it was, Sabine hoped that it would last forever for she had never been so happy, content, and in love than ever before.

"I will never get enough of you," Sabine said, nudging her nose against his with a contented hum.

"Neither will I," Bastien whispered, almost non-audible. "Now, go enjoy your dinner,"

~~~x~~~

Hearty laughter echoed in the dining room along with the clinking of utensils on dinner plates.

The first course, a soup of creamed mushroom, had been served and conversation at the Freemen table had flowed pleasantly, giving controversial topics a wide berth. Thankfully, Sabine and Josef were seated next to each other, putting her at ease that she was close to a familiar face. On her left, sat Jimmy, a charming young man. Sabine could tell he was a bit of a rake due to his constant double entendres that were just enough to remain both humorous and respectful. Despite all of that, she found herself feeling refreshed at his conversation. He talked of his various travels and the people he met with great excitement.

"Miss Jones," a booming voice called, causing Sabine to look up from the rim of her wine glass.

She met the eyes of her father, who sat at the head of the table. Fine, gray hair haloed his head, instead of the thick curls he had passed down to her. His face was lined with heavy wrinkles, an indicator of the hard life he had been through, but there was one thing about him that hadn't changed. It was his eyes. Those same kind eyes sparkled with spirit even though forty-four years had passed since she last seen them.

"Emile has been telling me that you're a ward to a white woman," he stated, just as the second course was being served.

A hush fell across the room, everyone's attention turned towards her awaiting her response.

Sabine briefly glanced at Josef, "Please, call me Edith, Mr. Freemen," Sabine said, placing her glass down onto the table. "And yes, it's true, I'm Mrs. Scott's charge," she answered.

Emile's husband, Lee, raised his eyebrows. "I'm curious as to why she would take a colored girl into her care," he said.

"Maybe she wants to relive the glory days," Jimmy suggested, before sipping from his wine.

"Jimmy!" Emile admonished, glaring at her son.

Sabine shook her head, "It's fine Emile, I wasn't offended," she reassured. "My parents died when I was very young, I believe sickness took them both," Sabine said.

"You poor child," Mama commented softly.

"I was in a orphanage when she found me," Sabine informed. "She was a lonely, childless, war widow and wanted a companion. I don't know what made her go to a colored orphanage, but I suppose it was just luck of the draw for me," she recounted. "She has treated me as if I were one of her own ever since, and for that I am grateful," Sabine finished, telling her "life story" to everyone.

"Quite the life you have lived," Papa said, Sabine only nodded in agreement. "What about you, Mr. Campbell?" He asked, turning his attention to Josef. "How did you come to meet Edith here?" he questioned.

"I'm the family doctor," Josef replied, sitting up in his chair. "Mrs. Scott knew how white doctors would treat Edith, or should I say, wouldn't treat her. So, Mrs. Scott employed me for my services," he explained.

"An excellent profession Mr. Campbell!" Jimmy cheered, sending a smile his way. "We need more colored doctors in America," he added.

"I've been meaning to ask Mr. Campbell," Emile began. "Are you from this country? I've seen hundreds of colored men and none look quite like you," she pointed out.

"No," Josef responded, shaking his head. "I'm from Africa,"

"The Motherland," Mama hummed, her lips curving upwards.

"What about that man you left with Edith? One of the maids noted he had a slight accent," Emile recalled.

"Oh, that's Mr. Greene," Sabine named. "He's French,"

"You have a white butler?" Jimmy asked, chuckling in amusement.

"Now that, would be a sight to see, but no, Mr. Greene is not our butler," Sabine clarified, laughing herself. "He's my guardian, a second pair of eyes for Mrs. Scott, if you will. He makes sure that I don't get myself into trouble," she explained, which wasn't a complete lie.

"You keep quite the company, don't you?" Lee asked, with a smile. "Anyone else noteworthy?"

"Well there's an Italian," Josef chimed in.

A slight laugh escaped Lee, "My god, all you need is a Chinaman and you all would make quite the colorful party," he said.

"We would, wouldn't we?" Sabine responded, joining in with his laughter. "That's actually why we moved from our previous home to New York," she stated. "Less stares here and easier to get lost in the crowd,"

"How long do you all plan on staying here?" Mama asked curiously.

"Just until the beginning of next year," Sabine answered. "Mrs. Scott wants to go Europe,"

"It seems we have no choice but to treasure every second we spend with you, Edith," Mama declared, smiling warmly at her.

Sabine grinned back, "I wouldn't have it any other way," she agreed.

"Plus, it would do you some good wouldn't it Edith?" Jimmy began. "Spending time with folks who look like you,"

"We'll be your home, away from home," Emile said. "A second family," she finished.

"Oh, if they only knew," Sabine thought.

Sabine picked up her wine glass, "Emile, words cannot describe how happy that would make me," she grinned, before raising her glass. "To the Freemen's!" she cheered.

"To the Freemen's!"

Chapter Fifteen: A Journey’s End

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Epilogue]

You tie up loose ends.

Ahhhh! This epilogue is, like, twice the size of other chapters. I should’ve broken it into two, but I figured you all wanted to get to the end!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @city-of-weird​, @all-the-right-regrets, @alannister-always-pays-her-debts​, @fleetwoodsmacabitch​

Warnings: violence

Gif Source: captaindelafere

General Howzer looked too thin to be a military man at his age, but what people mistook for smallness was all lean muscle, as tough as a coffin nail. His hair had gone gray despite his age, but it gave him a steeled look that he didn’t mind. It added to the ferocity of his blue eyes.

With Specimen 049 back in the compound, he let himself breathe easy for a moment. Her absence had been a source of great distress for him—a fact his jaw still attested to, aching from all the grinding he had inflicted on it.

But there was still the trouble of how Specimen 049 had escaped.

It kept him up at night. How had she contacted the outside? How had she arranged the help? They had scoured her quarters after the breakout, searching for anything that indicated how she had reached beyond her concrete room. Having found nothing, Howzer had to admit it hadn’t had anything to do with Specimen 049. Someone else had come for her on their own initiative.

Howzer considered shutting down the program. Specimen 049 had been one of a few successful experiments—perhaps the best, because she had never resisted, had never fled.

Until that one day.

She may not have orchestrated the escape, but she had flown the coop all the same when the opportunity arrived. She had obliterated his best team when he sent them after her.

Perhaps the experiments were ultimately a failure. Everything had worked but for the ability to suppress or remove the flight instinct, the need to escape prison. If even Specimen 049, his model subject, had shucked her chains, then there was no hope.

Chaos erupted outside the compound, alarms blaring, but Howzer didn’t question it, too consumed by his problem. Whoever was assaulting the base had no hope of success, besides.

The doorknob of his office turned. He glanced at it in irritation. “Private, I ordered you—”

He froze as you stepped into the room, followed by the man he recognized as your liberator from the week before.

“Specimen oh-four-nine.”

“General Howzer,” you said, your voice crisp, without inflection. “I’m glad you decided to work late tonight.”

You moved forward, crossing the room in three quick strides. Howzer reached for the gun in his desk drawer. Your hand clamped down on his wrist, snapped it. Pain exploded up his arm. The gun clattered to the floor as he hissed, cradling his wrist.

You gestured to the other man. Nodding, he handed you his pistol and circled around the desk, pulling the keyboard of Howzer’s computer toward him.

“What are you doing?” Howzer growled.

He watched in mounting horror as the man located the program files. He went into Specimen 049’s folder, deleted it, and then backed out. He hesitated, then deleted everything related to the program before purging them from the hard drive.

“You can’t just erase everything,” Howzer sneered. “We’ll just recreate it all.”

You shook your head, yanked him to his feet. “We’ll see.” Turning to the other man, you ordered, “Finish here.”

You paused, pulled open another drawer of Howzer’s desk. A bottle of scotch lay at the bottom, a quarter of it gone. Taking it, you pushed Howzer toward the door.

“What happened? You were my best results.”

You remained quiet, shoving him through the door and down the hallway. The chaos of the explosion had drawn everyone to the front of the compound. You led Howzer away to the back, then through a steel door.

The cold night air hit Howzer like knives. He shivered despite himself, the pain in his wrist flaring. Fear pushed at him, but he shoved it down. He was General Benjamin Howzer, and damned would he be if he let some young upstart intimidate him.

“Your car,” you demanded.

He pointed to a brown sedan nestled beside an SUV. Fishing in his pocket for keys, you clicked the button. The car’s lights flashed.

“I expected you to lie.”

“Good. That’s what we trained you to do.”

Howzer was already planning his escape. The car was home turf for him. He knew the way the wheel jerked to the right when he hit pot holes and how quick it would take to slam the seat back against you. He knew the passenger seatbelt was loose and fraying, unreliable.

He would walk away.

You shoved him into the driver’s seat, got into the passenger seat. Howzer settled in behind the wheel, trying to anticipate your moves.

You handed him the liquor bottle. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me make you.”

He stared you down. “Make me.”

Starbursts exploded in his vision as you seized his face, jamming the bottle against his lips. He felt a tooth crack, blood mingling with the burning scotch. He choked, unable to swallow so much so fast, but you were forcing the bottle further past his lips, down into the back of his throat.

Then it was gone. He gasped, lungs and throat burning, lips pouring blood. “You fucking bitch!”

“I am what you made me. Now drive.”

Fear tried again, more successful this time in making him afraid. “Where?”

You gestured to the street leading to the highway.

There was still an opportunity to escape. Howzer tried to formulate it in his mind as he started the sedan and worked his way to the freeway. He slowly put on his seatbelt.

You didn’t do the same.

Even better, he thought.

Howzer’s foot pressed down on the gas, pushing the speedometer past eighty, then ninety. You watched dispassionately.

Fear wrapped around his guts.

“When this is over, I’m going to get your boyfriend, too,” he snarled. “You’ve damned him in all of this.”

He eyed the crop of woods looming up ahead alongside the highway.

“You won’t get the chance.”

Howzer’s seatbelt suddenly went slack. He glanced down, saw your hand retreat from the release button.

He had planned to swerve into a tree, but seeing the seatbelt made him hesitate. He shot a glance at you.

“Nice try,” you whispered, and yanked the steering wheel beneath his hands.

~~

Booker drove the car down the long stretch of road, searching for you. He found the wreckage of Howzer’s sedan, the crumpled body of Howzer himself wrapped around the tree.

No sign of you.

Trying not to worry—had someone else grabbed you first?—Booker drove further down, searching the woods.

At last, he glimpsed something gray in the distance. As he drew near, it resolved into you, wandering slowly down the asphalt. He pulled to a stop beside you.

You slipped into the passenger seat. A dark bruise was forming on your arms and forehead. Booker gestured to them. You frowned in confusion. He reached over and gently brushed the back of a finger across your arm. It sent a prickle up his hand.

“Dashboard,” you murmured, watching his finger.

Pulling away slowly, Booker refocused on the road. An SUV was approaching from the opposite direction. The headlights flashed.

“They came to help?”

The surprise in your voice matched Booker’s own. “Yes.”

“See? Family comes through.”

Chest constricting, Booker rolled to a stop beside the SUV. Andy stuck her head out of the driver’s window. “Everything good?”

Booker gave her a thumbs up. He could see the others crowding at the windows, peering at him and at you through the windshield.

“There’s a place not far from here,” Andy continued. “To crash for the night.”

Booker shifted uncomfortably and glanced at you. “Whatever you want,” you told him.

“Okay,” he answered Andy.

He followed the immortals to the safe house. The car ride passed in silence, you staring out the window. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything. He felt uncomfortable, hyperaware of your presence—the way you were breathing, your reflection in the window.

At last, he asked, “Why did Howzer call you Specimen oh-four-nine?”

“That was my number.”

He recalled you telling him to call you “Spec” if he wanted a name back when he first met. Clearing his throat, he said, “My real name is Sebastien.”

He felt your eyes on him before you quietly gave him yours. He repeated it over and over in his mind, guarding it like some precious piece of you.

Pulling up to the safe house, Booker was surprised to discover it was actually a two-storey house. There were enough rooms for everyone to sleep on their own.

You trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom, the shower turning on moments later. Booker and the others stayed downstairs, infected by your silence.

Andy offered Booker a bottle. He reached for it, hesitated, shook his head. Arching an eyebrow, she pulled from it herself.

Booker kept an ear toward the shower, listening to the shower splash differently as you moved. The others watched him, exchanging glances with each other.

Nile broke the silence. “Will she be okay?”

Booker frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t have a mission. Isn’t that what she was trained to do? Always follow a mission? I mean, she was doing that when she brought you to Quynh, wasn’t she?”

The shower turned off. Booker heard you cross softly across the floor.

“She’s free,” he murmured, “and she’s strong.”

“What about you?”

The question shook him. What about him? He hadn’t thought about it since he returned to the States to break you out.

Overhead, he heard a door shut quietly, a mattress squeak.

“I’m going to help her, if she’ll have me,” he answered.

~~

Despite his exhaustion, Booker didn’t sleep that night. He rose early and made breakfast for everyone, including himself, after venturing into town to buy groceries.

You were the first to descend the stairs. Sunlight had yet to dispel the early morning darkness. Booker snapped to attention as you approached him. You looked rested, perhaps more so than he had ever seen you. Something about the softness of lingering sleep on your face made Booker’s heart trip.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you answered. Sitting at the table, you dug gratefully into the plate of food: eggs, oatmeal, bacon, toast. Booker had given you a triple portion, remembering the last time you had scarfed food down.

“I was thinking,” you began, then hesitated. Jabbing at the bacon with your fork, you asked, “Did you do the other thing I asked you to?”

Booker nodded and fished the flash drive out of his pocket. He had palmed it into a USB port on Howzer’s computer, pretending to delete the files when instead he had transferred them over. You took it from him with a delicate touch, as though afraid to break it.

“Do you think there are any left?”

Booker’s chest ached at the sound of your voice cracking. “I saw a lot of names.”

“But are they alive? No, don’t tell me. I’ll find out.” You pocketed the flash drive and resumed eating. “So, what’s the deal with you and the others?”

“I still have ninety-nine years.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry. What will you do?”

He sat down across from you, not quite meeting your gaze. “I was hoping…you wouldn’t mind having me around.”

The fork paused halfway to your mouth. You gaped at him, jaw slack. He would have laughed if not for his anxiety over your answer.

Lowering the fork, you cleared your throat. “No…”

Booker felt like bricks had hit him over the head. He glanced away, stared down at his hands. What had he expected? That you might think of him as more than anything than the guy who had been part of a mission?

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He jerked his head back up. You met his gaze levelly, a tentative smile on your lips. Relief coursed through him, better than anything he could think of. Raking a hand over the back of his neck, he struggled to fight the grin pulling at his mouth.

“If I catch you drinking, I will shank you with the bottle,” you told him.

“I believe you.”

“Good. Now, where do you think we should start?”

“Here,” he answered, and he leaned forward to kiss you.

[luminarai]

Nile is like ‘oh I know a place’ and takes them all to goddamn therapy 

[iphisesque]

do you think nicky and joe were booker's bi awakening because im absolutely sold on that. like imagine being a new immortal who just got into this group of timeless warriors and they're all some variation of gay and you don't rly have a problem with that even though you yourself are heterosexual then one day you walk in on the two crusade gays making out and you're like oh. maybe im not as straight as i thought