#The cycle of violence. The cycle of yearning and wanting and violence

[hajihiko]

your art sort of fucks me up sometimes. in the best possible way. i be like i'm sooooo good on my own and outta relationship but then i see YOUUU depict love so tenderly and lose higher cognitive functioning for an hour. what in the lovely magical girl hell is this

HAH oh boy I guess that's karma! I get that too from other people's art 😂

[barrel-crow-n]

Something that makes me crazy is the difference in how Kanej deals with their issues.

Kaz was hurt so he hurt others. He got scammed so he became the scammer. He was beaten up so he became the one beating people up. He found a way to thrive in the toxic cycle of violence in the Barrel. This keeps him alive, but makes him a bad person. Kaz doesn't care. Kaz left decency behind the second that was what was necessary to survive. He shrugged it off like a cheap coat. Don't like touch? Simple. Break anybodies wrist that dares touch you; break their arm. Give them a reason to keep away. Make them scared because that keeps you safe (and as a result will keep them safer from you).

Inej was hurt so she prevents others from being hurt. She hunts down slavers so children won't have the same fate as her. She can't just leave decency behind, her values and beliefs won't allow it. She does penance after every kill, she cried after killing the first time, she isn't keen on violence and only does it when completely necessary (at odds with Kaz that attacks at the slightest provocation to the point of everyone giving him a wide berth). The violence committed on her makes her angry (and righteously) but she doesn't lash out at everyone like Kaz does, she holds that back for a select few, to make them pay for the suffering they've caused.

Kaz felt like he died and became someone new so he leaned into it. He change his name from Rietveld to Brekker, he became someone new, a stranger. Nobody knew who he was, or where he came from. Kaz Rietveld was dead, and a monster had taken his place.

Inej also says that she feels like she died. She says that the girl she had been died in the belly of a slavers ship. However, unlike Kaz, she refuses to change her name. And dehumanisation links to this!

Kaz was dehumanised so he dehumanised himself further. Dirtyhands. Per Haskell's rabid dog. Demjin. Kaz thrives in this, because it makes him feel safe, it makes him feel untouchable. Kaz Rietveld was weak, so was replaced by Kaz Brekker. When that isn't enough, Dirtyhands is there to get the rough work done.

Inej was dehumanised so she humanised herself. She is not a lynx or a spider or a wraith. She is Inej Ghafa. She is a pirate vigilante, rescuer of slaves. And the interesting thing is that Kaz offered this to her too! He asks her "Is that what you prefer to be called?" (referring to her name, Inej Ghafa) when buying her indenture at the Menagerie. He is offering her the same thing he did. A change of name, a clean slate. But she declines. She is a Ghafa and no matter what happens to her, she always will be.

Kaz was traumatised so he isolated himself. He holds people at arms length because he sees them as weaknesses, or as obstacles between him and his revenge. He put his gloves on and doesn't take them off, he failed once with Imogen and decided to never try again. He yearns for connection but it only serves to isolate him further. Because they have no idea what it's like to watch friends hug, knowing you can never have the same. Kaz builds up armour (the gloves) but he doesn't tackle the root problem that is his fear of touch. He tried once and failed and quit (which is actually out of character for him, in contrast with him learning magic ceaselessly until he has mastered it - and shows how terrified he is and how disgusted he is at himself) and this serves to make him feel like he just can't. Like the dream of friends is hopeless.

Inej was traumatised so she seeks human connection. She has Jesper and Nina. She has the other Crows. She tries to heal, to open herself up. She might still flinch at touch occasionally but her friends are helping her and she wants to try and heal. She knows how to ask for help.

In all, Inej's ways of coping are a lot healthier. Kaz is stuck in a toxic cycle, and has been for years, but Inej is giving him a way out of it. Finally, he can make the step towards proper healing. He won't change his name back. He won't stop being a gangster. But he can feel more comfortable in himself and with his friends. And that's what Inej wants to give him, because she knows how important that is.

[wickedscribbles]

if i get too loud you can shut my mouth: ch. 1

Masterlist Ch. 2 Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: descriptions of violence, excessive swearing, fourth wall breaks, yearning, bridgerton season 3 spoilers, sexual tension

Word Count: 2.4K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

It feels like it took them ten years to get here.

In reality, it was a little less than half a year, but still – fuck.

Wade might not be two hundred years old, enduring some endless drag of time like Logan has, but he knows that every day spent orbiting one another and pretending like things weren’t boiling with unspoken tension was agonizing. Seeing Logan in those fucking flannels was agonizing. Watching him doze off on the couch. Catching the way his face softened when he smiled, ruffling Mary Puppins’ ears.

It was all such a pain in the ass.

(Thankfully, not literally, this time. Al would kill him if he brought another fight into the apartment. Even if she couldn’t see bloodstains all over the carpet, she’d sure as hell know when she stepped on one.) And Wade understood – really he did. He could see through Logan’s prickly act the second he met him in that bar. Even with what they’d been through to save the current timeline they now both resided in, Logan felt some deep-rooted urge to distance himself from people. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else. Didn’t think he had it in him to lose anyone he got close to again. That kind of cycle was hard to break.

They saw one another at the occasional get-together, now held at Al and Peter’s place. With Wade throwing himself back into mercenary work and the money getting better, that meant things inevitably getting more dangerous, so now he bunked in a one bedroom with the only girl in his life willing to put her tongue down his throat every hour of the day. That girl also sometimes threw up after eating her kibble too fast in the morning, but hey. We all have our problems.

But if Wade ever tried to hang around when the night was winding down – or if he extended an invitation to just Logan – things got sketchy. He’d always mutter some excuse about work – the old man was getting his hands dirty as a mechanic, apparently, but Wade had his resources and heard more than a few stories about the Wolverine cropping up as the months passed.

And Wade can feel it. That pulling away, that distance. Whether it’s there because Logan actually feels any sort of sense of connection between them, or because he can’t stand Wade and wants him to leave him the fuck alone, Wade can’t really tell. When he’s not in a fight, Logan’s so fucking quiet. Keeps to himself so much.

He tries not to push. The whole thing with Vanessa went south again, fast. Because he either pushes too hard, or not enough, and fuck if he can ever find a solid in between.

Spring slides into summer, sweltering.

Wish we could just walk around in a g-string when it’s fuck me degrees out here, right?

Wade sends the text to Logan one insufferable July afternoon, crouched in an abandoned warehouse. He never expects a reply. The man doesn’t exactly give off “knows how to text” energy. But hours later, his phone vibrates.

You’re nasty

Wade grins. “Exactly, big guy.”

A stupid, eager part of him can’t help but hope a little harder, after that. He could’ve just ignored the text entirely. But this was something.

He digs in his heels, thinking of anything and everything to hound the man about throughout his day.

You ever think about what these goonies are jerking it to before you cut their heads off?

Stupid shit, totally off the top of his head.

Still hotter than absolute shit, is this why you only go out in the suit at night? Think I can feel my balls boiling

Sometimes he’d get an answer, sometimes not. Either way, it was typically a short response. (Thank fuck he didn’t text like a boomer – Logan was hot, but that might have been the end for Wade’s boner regardless.)

Puppins says she misses you :(

(Don’t tell her but you’re nicer to cuddle with)

Nothing to that one. Alone in his apartment, he sighs. Mary Puppins groans her sympathy and snuggles closer into his chest.

—---------

A little over a month later, there’s an urgent knock on the door.

More like a banging.

Cops is Wade’s first half-awake thought as he slings himself out of bed, already gripping the first gun he can get to. He stashes it in the pocket of his fuzzy ducky-patterned bathrobe, getting to the peephole.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

This is somehow worse than cops.

Wade unlocks the door and Logan pours himself in, dominating the frame and almost stumbling to get inside. His eyes are wild, skin glistening with sweat. He still wearing that stupid fucking flannel, light brown and dark blue, the sleeves pushed up to the elbow like he’s personally asking Wade to fuck him.

He huffs out a few heavy breaths, blinking at the hush of Wade’s apartment like he isn’t quite understanding it.

“Hey, princess,” Wade offers up to break the silence. “You, uh, coming over for the weekly rewatch of Bridgerton? I mean, I already skipped to the good parts, but we can always –

Logan’s hand closes over his windpipe so fast that the rest of the sentence vanishes in a wheeze. Pleasure blooms somewhere in the back of Wade’s brain, and he’s almost certain that he’s hard as he’s backed up against the refrigerator. Puppins only raises her head from the dog bed to look between them, her tail wagging frantically.

“What the fuck,” Logan grits out. “You called me.”

He sort of had. After a few ignored texts, Wade’s thumb had fumbled the CALL button. There’d been a mild rush of panic before the usual tossing and turning that led him to sleep. To be honest, he didn’t even think Logan would catch that. And he definitely didn’t think that it would lead to a pissed off Wolverine storming his living space at 2 a.m.

“Sure did,” he says cheerfully, once the fingers around his throat loosen somewhat. Wade holds up his hands, trying to look innocent. “Butterfingers. My mistake, peanut.”

A maelstrom of emotions flit over Logan’s face in an instant. He drops Wade, his expression settling on something that the other man can’t read. At last he shakes his head, sighing, and turns back to the door.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, then, I’ll just…”

Dude looks like a fucking kicked puppy. A tired kicked puppy that’s lived longer than most people would care to.

“Aww, c’mon,” Wade urges.

It’s hard to look sexy with a face like his, but he splays himself back against the fridge, bathrobe falling back a little to reveal what’s definitely still hard in those boxer shorts.

“When’s the last time we really hung out, huh? Mano a mano? Not since the potential end of the world – we really could watch Bridgerton, you know.”

Wade doesn’t miss the quickest flick of Logan’s eyes down to his crotch. Ohoho. Gotcha, bub.

“I don’t even know what the hell that is,” Logan growls, folding his arms.

His body language says arghhh no I’m so grumpy, don’t touch me, but his eyes are telling Wade everything he needs to know. They’re kind of nice, when he isn’t glaring at something. You know what he’s got? He’s got the deep brown eyes of a Golden Retriever.

And Wade wants to pet that puppy.

“Puppy play? Before we’ve even kissed? Girl you nasty,” Wade says out of nowhere, turning to an obscure corner of his apartment.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Wade clears his throat, pushing his chest forward somewhat.

“Anyway. Puppins loves a good period romance but we can put on whatever, if you want to stay.”

Please stay.

“What do you normally watch when you’re lurking in your apartment after a long day at the shop?”

He delivers the end of that sentence with a light Southern twang. Logan doesn’t seem to appreciate it, but he relaxes ever so slightly. Swallows. Fuck. Wade can smell the work on him too, the grease and sweat of a long day. Gasoline. There’s a smudge right under Logan’s left eye, and he really, really wants to close the distance and touch the mark. Not knowing if doing so would temporarily lose him a couple of fingers, Wade stays where he is.

“...Home Improvement,” Logan says finally.

“Jesus Christ, you would,” Wade scoffs out. “I mean that as a compliment, sweetheart – if you looked me in the eye and told me you watched Dance Moms I would keel over, regeneration or no.”

It’s clear that Logan has no fucking clue what Dance Moms is either, and maybe that’s for the best. He shuffles from foot to foot, still seeming to be stuck between wanting to stay or go.

“It’s late. I should probably –”

“Wait,” Wade interrupts. “Wait. Can I just – ask something?”

Logan gives him a little shrug, like I think you’re going to anyway, so go for it.

He hesitates, biting at a thumbnail. There’s blood underneath it, and probably not his own. With a grimace, Wade lowers it again.

“What are we doing? With the texting and the avoiding and the –?” He moves his hands around in gentle circles. Logan doesn’t quite meet his eye, but Wade isn’t finished yet. “Y’know, you save the timeline with a guy, get niiiice and cozy in the back of a Honda Odyssey –”

Logan turns a shade of pink that they both know can’t be contributed to anger. “Listen, pal – when you’re fighting sometimes that just happens –”

“Oh, okay, buddy,” Wade continues, grinning. “I know it does, believe me, I’ve been as hard as vibranium for many a fight. But I’ve never curled up next to the guy who’s trying to kill me afterward and woken up with their lips on my forehead.”

It’s all true. After truly destroying his variant’s Honda Odyssey, Wade and Logan had finally exhausted themselves into a state of sleep. And even though he’d found himself restrained by a truly impressive seatbelt arrangement, he’d come to with the heat of the other man’s body pressed fully against his own.

Holding his breath, not daring to move a muscle, Wade had peeked out of one eye to confirm it. Yes, that was the Wolverine acting as his little spoon. Minutes or perhaps hours passed before Logan shifted in his sleep, his bottom lip pressed sloppily against the top of Wade’s head. His breath was warm there. Something about the comfort of that lulled him back to sleep.

Of course, he hadn’t dared breathe a word of that. They had important shit to do and a runtime of only two hours and seven minutes.

Oh, Wade fucking adores putting that look on Logan’s face. Even better with the tinge of pink to match. How many people can say that they’ve made the Wolverine blush? Well, how many living people?

“Shut up,” Logan splutters.

“No can do, princess,” Wade says, grinning wide. “I think we both know the truth when we hear it. Even if it’s hard. Not that that’s the only thing that’s hard around h –”

This time, Wade sees Logan coming and ducks. The door of his refrigerator crumples inward with a metallic sound, things tumbling around inside as they fall.

“Fuck, I just got that, you animal!” Wade complains as he watches the LED screen on the side of the thing crackle and die. He fumbles for the gun in his robe, unsure of whether or not he’ll need it. “Do you know how much a smart fridge costs?!”

Logan’s still coming after him, claws unextended but his face a storm. “Why do you need a TV on your fucking fridge?!”

“To watch Colin and Penelope make sweet, beautiful love after three seasons of sexual tension!”

He weighs up his options. If Logan wants to make this a fight, he can’t start with the gun. Better to have some sort of melee option so the rest of the building doesn’t panic – his tableside lamp is looking like the best way to go right now, even if it was a steal at the local thrift place and gives the whole place a beautiful ambiance.

But shit, he forgot that Logan is lightning fast as well as strong. The whole fucking package. One wrist caught in another iron tight grasp, then the other, and he finds himself being dragged to the nearest wall. Pinned there.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, Logan’s face close enough to lean in and touch. That smear of grease on his cheek. The crow’s feet around his eyes. His mouth. Fuck.

“We can’t,” Logan says, his voice softer than Wade’s ever heard it.

“You’re gonna say that to me while pinning me to the fucking wall? I–”

“Listen to me, jackass,” Logan cuts him off.

Fuck, he’s so warm. He’s like a radiator. If Wade could only lean in. He’s begging at this point.

“I don’t – it’s not that I haven’t thought about –”

“My succulent body meat?” Wade suggests.

“Shut the fuck up.” He sighs, exasperated. (Wade’s dick feels that way too. How much exposition can an author shove into one fanfiction before two characters actually fuck each other, Jesus Christ?) “I’ve thought about this. But you’ve got people, and you’ve already risked your life and mine to keep ‘em safe. I don’t wanna mess that up again.”

“A noble thought,” Wade concedes. “However, if anything does threaten my oh-so-treasured loved ones, you know I’ll be right there to kick that threat’s ass, right? And that being so horny for you twenty-four/seven is severely impacting my quality of life? The vet’s saying he might have to put me down.”

The tiniest smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth. He ducks his head as he does, something shy and young about it. Something hot blooms in the bottom of Wade’s stomach, and for once, it’s not the ache of sex and need. It’s the major fucking crush he has on this man. Although, at this point, he is also so hard it hurts.

Logan’s eyes flit down again, noticing that particular fact when it jumps against his thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Wade.”

“Not Jesus Christ, my friend. Marvel Jesus.”

“Yeah, no one ever said that but you.”

Logan leans in and kisses him like he’s wanted to do it just as long as Wade has.

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo

[bloggerspam]

Phantom Pains - Chapter 10 Snippet

Part of Jazz’s errands around Gotham didn’t involve the GIW at all. 

She glances behind her once more, refraining from counting the shades that follow her through the city, making sure to keep her song low but insistent, almost yearning. 

Who she is now, what she’s taken up the mantle of in place of Danny, means she cannot simply live in the Realms like she so dearly wants to. 

As a halfa, as a Phantom , she has certain responsibilities she must fulfill if she wants to be left alone. 

This is one of them. 

Gotham is a cursed city. It is hardly the first to be so, and it will never be the last. 

What makes Gotham unique is simple: its curses are alive . 

Its curses live within its people, day in and day out, seeps from the gargoyles that adorn the city buildings like crowns, embedded into the very ground it sits upon, builds itself into each and every brick of each and every damned building that plants itself within the city limits. 

Gotham is a cursed city. Its people are bewitched by the nature of it: ugly and horrible and sad and dirty. 

Its people cry every night, hurt every day, repeat the cycle of violence and greed and toxicity and still, still . 

The people love their city. 

They love their city, the good and the bad and the terrible in between, and then they never leave . 

So part of Jazz’s errands around Gotham was to take them away, to take them home . 

To the Gotham that isn’t Gotham, the Bludhaven that isn’t Bludhaven. 

To the Realms. 

Read the whole chapter here.

[cuddlytogas]

there was some Twitter madness recently where someone left a comment on someone's art to the effect of, "Ed shouldn't wear a dress, he's a man!" which I do disagree with on principle, but unfortunately, it brought out one of my least favourite trends in the fandom

so, naturally, I had to write a twitter essay about it. and I already largely argued this in a post here, but the thread is clearer and better structured, so I thought I'd cross-post for those not on the Hellsite (derogatory). edited for formatting/structure's sake, since I no longer have to keep to tweet lengths, and incorporating a couple of points other people brought up in the replies

so

I want to point out that the wedding cake toppers in OFMD s2 aren't evidence that Ed wants to wear dresses. Gender is fake, men can wear skirts, play with these dolls how you like, but it's not canon, and that scene especially Doesn't Mean That.

People cite it often: 'He put himself in a dress by painting the bride as himself! It's what he wants!' But that fundamentally misunderstands the scene, and the series' framing of weddings as a whole. I'd argue that Ed paints the figure not from desire, but from self-hatred; it's not what he wants, but what he thinks he should, and has failed to, be.

(Yes, I am slightly biased by my rampant anti-marriage opinions, but bear with me here, because it is relevant to the interpretation of the scene, and season two as a whole.)

The show is not subtle. It keeps telling us that the institution of marriage is a prison that suffocates everyone involved. Ed's parents' cycle of abuse is passed to their son in both the violence he witnesses then enacts on his father, and the self-repression his mother teaches, despite her good intentions ("It's not up to us, is it? It's up to God. ... We're just not those kind of people. We never will be."). Stede and Mary are both oppressed by their arranged marriage, with 1x04 blunty titled Discomfort in a Married State. The Barbados widows revel in their freedom ("We're alive. They're dead. Now is your time").

But even without this context, the particular wedding crashed in 2x01 is COMICALLY evil. The scene is introduced with this speech from the priest:

"The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing ... to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony."

It's upper class, all-white, and religiously sanctioned. "Vile natural conditions" include queerness, sexual freedom, and family structures outside the cisheteropatriarchal capitalist unit. "The obligation of people of standing" invokes ideas like the white man's burden, innate class hierarchy, religious missions, and conversion therapy. Matrimony is presented as both "sacred" (endorsed by the ruling religious body), and a "transaction" (business performed to transfer property and people-as-property, regardless of their desires), a tool of the oppressive society that pirates escape and destroy. That is where the figurines come from.

When Ed, in a drunk, depressive spiral, paints himself onto the bride, he's not yearning for a pretty dress. He's sort of yearning for a wedding, but that's not framed as positive. What he's doing is projecting himself into an 'ideal' image of marriage because he believes that: a) that's what Stede (and everyone) wants; b) he can never live up to that ideal because he's unlovable and broken (brown, queer, lower-class, violent, abused, etc); c) that's why Stede left. He tries to make himself fit into the social ideal by painting himself onto the closest match - long-haired, partner to Stede/groom, but a demure, white woman, a frozen, porcelain miniature - because, if he could just shrink himself down and squeeze into that box, maybe Stede would love him and he'd live happily ever after. But he can't. So he won't.

The fantasy fails: Ed is morose, turns away from the figurines, then tips them into the sea, a lost cause. He knows he won't ever fulfil that bride's role, but he sees that as a failure in himself, not the role. It's not just that "Stede left, so Ed will never have a dream wedding and might as well die." Stede left when Ed was honest and vulnerable, "proving" what his trauma and depression tell him: there's one image of love (of personhood), and he'll never live up to it because he's fundamentally deficient. So he might as well die.

This hit me from my very first viewing. The scene is devastating, because Ed is wrong, and we know it! He doesn't need to change or reduce himself to fit an image and be accepted (as, eg, Izzy demanded). Stede knows and loves him exactly as he is; it's the main thread and theme of season two!

(@/everyonegetcake suggested that Ed's yearning in these scenes includes his broader desire for the vulnerability and safety Stede offered, literalised through unattainable "fine" things like the status of gentleman in s1, or the figurine's blue dress. I'd argue, though, that these scenes don't incorporate this beyond a general knowledge of Ed's character. Ed is always pining for both literal and emotional softness, but the significance of the figurines specifically, to both Ed and the audience, is poisoned by their origin and context: there is no positive fantasy in the bride figure, only Ed's perceived deficiency.

Further, assuming that a desire for vulnerability necessarily corresponds with an explicit desire for femininity, dresses, etc, kind of contradicts the major themes of the show. OFMD asserts that there is nothing wrong with men assuming femininity (through drag, self-care, nurturing, emotional vulnerability, etc), but also that many of these traits are, in fact, genderless, and should be available to men without affecting their perceived or actual masculinity. It thematically invokes the potential for cross-gender expression in Ed's desires, especially through the transgender echoes in his relieved disposal, then comfortable reincorporation, of the Blackbeard leathers/identity. It's a rich, valuable area of analysis and exploration. But it remains a suggestion, not a canon or on-screen trait.)

Importantly, the groom figure doesn't fit Stede, either. Not just in dress: it's stiff and formal, and marriage nearly killed him. He's shabbier now, yes, but also shedding his privilege and property, embracing his queerness, and trying to take responsibility for his community. In a s1 flashback, Stede hesitantly says, "I thought that, when I did marry, it could be for love," but he would never find love in marriage. Not just because he's gay, but because marriage in OFMD is an oppressive, transactional institution that precludes love altogether. All formal marriages in OFMD are loveless.

So, he becomes a pirate, where they reject society altogether and have matelotages instead. Lucius and Pete's "mateys" ceremony is shot and framed not like a wedding, but as an honest, personal bond, willingly conducted in community (in a circle; no presiding authority, procession, or transaction).

That is how Stede and Ed can find love, companionship, and happiness: by rejecting those figurines and their oppressive exchange of property, overseen by a church that enables colonialism and abuse. Ed is loved, and deserves happiness, as he is, no paint or projection required.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: draw Ed in dresses! Write him getting gender euphoria in skirts! Write trans/nb Ed, draw men being feminine! Gender is fake, the show invites exploration, that's what 'transformative works' means! But please, stop citing the cake toppers as evidence it's canon. Stop citing a scene where a depressed Māori man gets drunk and projects himself onto a rich, white, silent bride because he thinks he's innately unlovable and only people like her can find happiness, shortly before deciding to kill himself, as canon evidence it's what he wants.

(Also, please don't come in here with "lmao we're just having fun," I know, I get it. Unfortunately, I'm an academiapilled researchmaxxer, and some of youse need to remember that the word "canon" has meaning. NOW GO HAVE FUN PUTTING THAT MAN IN A PRETTY DRESS!! 💖💖)

[lendeah]

The currents of destiny

Chapter 3: Guilt and remorse.

Summary: In his third vision, Astarion observes himself trapped in a relentless cycle of thirst, remorse, and yearning within the shadows, witnessing others moving forward while he goes back to familiar patterns of the past. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav Word Count: 3.6k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

a/n: tysm to @tinystarfishgalaxy for helping me with this chapter <3

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[AO3 Link]

Astarion wept, as his body shook uncontrollably. His thoughts and emotions were swirling, Tav's agonized screams still echoed in his mind, haunting him. And those staring, lifeless eyes... they would forever haunt his darkest dreams. He shuddered at the thought of what he could have become: a soulless monster who would have used and abused Tav without remorse. The weight of guilt and regret bore down on him like a heavy cloak, suffocating and unrelenting. He wanted to kill that version of himself, he wanted to erase him from existence.

He briefly believed they were returning to the vast emptiness of space. But before he could process that thought, he was being violently pulled once more. Then, everything went black.

Astarion's heart clenched with fear as he quickly realized that he was inhabiting another body, once again a different version of himself. His mind was still spinning from the previous vision, but he forced himself to calm down and focus on his current reality. None of this is real, he told himself, you can still change everything.

The first thing he noticed was the emptiness in his head, the silence. The lack of parasite buzzing over his senses. That explained why his limbs felt heavier and slower, without the surge of power he had grown used to. He was back to being a vampire spawn.

We won, then. We beat the Nether Brain.

He would have laughed, had he not noticed the feelings coursing his body: regret and a deep-seated remorse. It was a stark difference from the empty void of emotions that had possesed him while inside his Ascended body. This version... this future Astarion, was filled with nothing but guilt. And hunger, so deep it shook his frame to its core.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was crouched against a damp stone wall, his body weakened and exhausted. The putrid stench of the city sewers filled his nostrils, adding to his misery.

His clothes, ragged and wet, were clinging uncomfortably to his body. Hells, he looked like a wild animal.

Disgusting.

Astarion's senses heightened as his body caught a whiff of fresh blood, human blood. His stomach growled and he could feel the thirst coursing through his veins, demanding to be sated. How long had it been since he last fed? Judging his estate, he estimated it had probably been weeks, if not a whole month.

He hadn't felt this feral in years. Since...

Since Cazador buried him alive for a year. Have I been starving myself?

His body forced itself to stand up, legs shaky and weak from lack of nourishment. He stumbled through the dark corridors of the sewers, following the scent of fresh blood like a predator on the hunt. The sound of voices echoed off the walls, growing louder as he neared his destination. He froze at the end of the tunnel, straining to make out their words.

"There's another body. How many innocent civilians have to disappear before someone takes action?" A woman's voice said.

"I know. We're doing our best to find those damned bloodsuckers. But the Dukes seem to have other priorities at the moment." Another male voice responded wearily.

Astarion's heart sank as he realized what they were talking about. Shit, the spawn. They are in the sewers too.

From behind the corner, he could see two Fists standing outside. Their weapons of choice were stakes and swords, a comical sight if he wasn't in so much pain.

He crouched down, trying to gather his strength and formulate a plan. But before he could process everything that was happening, his body was wracked with searing agony. His vision blurred as he fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach.

Then, everything was a blur.

His body launched itself at the unsuspecting guards. The sudden attack threw them off guard, their shocked cries echoing through the darkness.

What are you doing? Stop, you bastard!

Astarion willed his new body to halt, but it paid him no mind. With ruthless precision, he sank his fangs into one of the guards' necks, and tore the soft skin in seconds, hot blood pouring all over him. The other guard scrambled for his weapon but Astarion was too fast, too desperate. He struck again. However, the guard managed to slide the sword out in the process and lunged forward. Astarion barely managed to dodge it, the blade grazing his arm instead of piercing through his heart. The pain shot through him like lightning but did little to deter him.

He buried his fangs in the man's neck, relishing in the warm rush of blood as it filled his mouth and quenched his hunger. The guard struggled against him, but Astarion was far too strong in his primal state.

It wasn't until both guards lay lifeless at his feet that Astarion snapped out of his bloodlust-induced haze.

The silence was deafening. He released the limp body from his grasp, letting it slump onto the cold stone floor. The hunger had subsided for now, and he was left with a chilling emptiness; a void that echoed with his victims’ last moments.

He felt…dirty. Disgusted with himself and the monstrous actions he was forced to commit while under the control of this abhorrent future self once again.

The future version of Astarion sat in a corner of the room, his back against the unforgiving stone wall. He crouched over the blood-soaked floor, holding his knees tightly to his chest.

A bitter laugh escaped his body. "Look at what you've become," he muttered, "A monster...a butcher." His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the steady drip, drip, drip of the sewer pipes.

Oh, hush, Astarion supplied inside his brain, you are just trying to survive.

Survival was indeed his main priority now. With no friends or allies, Astarion had to do whatever it took to stay alive. And if that meant giving into his vampiric instincts and becoming a ruthless killer, then so be it.

But even as he tried to justify his actions to himself, guilt gnawed at him from within. One thought kept resurfacing in his mind - Tav. The one who had shown him kindness when all others saw him as nothing more than a tool to be used.

How could he face her after what he had done? Would she still see him as someone worthy of forgiveness or would she turn away in disgust?

How did you even get to this point? he asked himself.

Astarion's future self felt a strong urge to chase after her and make amends, begging for her forgiveness and asking her to take him back. But his pride wouldn't allow such a display of vulnerability. Instead, this version of himself reveled in the anger he felt towards her for not helping him complete the ritual. After all, it was her fault this had happened. If only he had ascended, he wouldn't have resorted to killing innocent people now.

No, he told himself, you would be killing her, you idiot.

But as always, he didn't listen. Didn't know.

As his eyesight blurred and shifted, Astarion found himself in another scene. It was late at night, and he was slowly making his way to the Elfsong tavern. Astarion felt a sense of unease, concerned that future him might harm his companions. But then it became clear: he was there to beg for forgiveness at last.

He watched for a moment as his body hesitated at the entrance of the inn. From within, he could hear the sound of laughter and music spilling out into the night. Through the dimly lit window, he saw his companions seated around their usual table, their faces glowing with warmth and camaraderie. There was Wyll, spinning tales of his latest exploits while Shadowheart listened with feigned indifference. His heart ached as he saw Tav, alive and well, her eyes sparkling as she shared a story with Lae'zel and Gale, her laughter more enchanting than any song sung in this tavern.

His heart swelled at the sight of her, revealing on seeing her unharmed, happy. If he had been in his own body, he would have cried of relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to hold her in his arms again, to feel the warmth of her embrace. What he would give to feel it right now.

But instead, he felt future Astarion's heart sink. A sense of longing for the life he could have had if he had chosen a different path. He could have been sitting with them, laughing and sharing stories instead of being haunted by guilt and regret, like a wild animal, resorting to living in the sewers to escape the sunlight.

The weight of his shame was too much to bear, and he couldn't bring himself to ask for their forgiveness. He convinced himself that they were better off without him anyway. As tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he glanced one last time at the scene before turning away from the window. He didn't want them to witness his broken state - humiliated, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.

And a part of him, real him, thought it was true. They seemed so happy without him, like he had never been there to begin with.

Do they even miss me?

His consciousness was pulled away once again. When he came to his senses, he found his body standing pressed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned alley. He took in his surroundings, trying to make sense of this new place. Through his future self's eyes, he sensed he was scanning the darkened streets for potential victims. His gaze lingered on a handsome young merchant, who despite his drunken state, still exuded a certain innocence. His body stepped out from the shadow, a charming smile already playing on his lips. The image was too familiar, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time instead of forward into the future.

The merchant's eyes, predictably, lit up at the sight of him.

"Well well, what do we have here? A handsome stranger wandering about all on his own?" he purred, trailing his finger down the man's arm. "My dear sir, it's far past bedtime for such daring adventure on your own."

The merchant blushed and stuttered something about getting lost. Astarion chuckled softly and offered to escort him back to his lodgings - an offer the man happily accepted.

His real self could only watch everything in disgust and shame; he had reverted back to his old ways. And this time, he wasn't even under the influence of his master.

Guiding him down an even narrower alleyway, Astarion couldn’t help but curse himself inwardly for what he knew he was about to do. Astarion wished he could look away as he saw his body lean in close, his voice a smooth whisper in the man's ear. He could see his blush and giggle, taken in by Astarion's false charm.

Oh, how he wished he could warn him of what was to come. But all he could do was watch on helplessly as his body continued this dreadful performance he had practiced so many times before.

I am back to being a puppet.

"Astarion?"

His body stiffened at the sound of his name, and he turned to face the voice.

"Tav," his body breathed her name. Their eyes locked, and for the first time in a year, he felt something other than the hunger that had become his constant companion. A sly smirk danced across his lips as he effortlessly masked his true emotions. "Well, well, what brings you to this enchanting alleyway?"

"I could ask you the same," Tav replied, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and shock. She glanced at the merchant standing next to him, stumbling in his drunken stupor. Her eyes filled with sadness as she took in the scene.

There was a tense silence as they stared one another down. Astarion swallowed hard, racking his brain for an excuse that would believably explain his current situation. Before he could come up with a response, Tav spoke again.

"Astarion," Tav uttered again, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you... are you okay?"

No, I am not.

"Of course, darling," he replied smoothly, flashing her a charming smile. "Just enjoying a late-night stroll with this... gentleman." He gestured towards the drunk merchant, who was now leaning heavily on Astarion for support.

Astarion's heart, however, constricted at the concern in her voice. He desperately wanted to tell her the truth, to hold her close, to kiss her breathless.

Do it, tell her. Kiss her. Save yourself.

"Are you sure you're okay, Astarion? You... you can tell me," Tav asked once again, her voice tinged with worry as her eyes flickered between them, clearly not buying his explanation. Astarion could feel her searching gaze boring into him, trying to read him like an open book.

Just as he was about to confess everything, Shadowheart appeared behind her, sliding a hand around her waist.

What?

"Love, what are you doing in an alleyway? You are asking to get murd-" her eyes suddenly locked on Future Astarion. Recognition and shock flashed across her face before it hardened into a scowl.

"Shadowheart," Astarion acknowledged her presence coldly. His gaze was caught on the way Shadowheart's fingers rested possessively on her waist; a sight he found increasingly difficult to stomach.

What is the meaning of this?

For once, Astarion felt the same way as his future self; confusion and hurt mingled with betrayal and anger. Shadowheart and Tav... together? When did that happen?

Tav turned around to look at Shadowheart, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I was just..." she began nervously, gesturing towards Astarion and the merchant. "I saw..."

"Astarion." Shadowheart's voice interrupted, cold as ever. Her grey eyes looked past him to the merchant who was almost passed out at this point. "You have poor taste in company these days."

Despite the icy edge to her voice, Astarion could make out a hint of worry in her eyes as she looked at Tav. It was a concern that echoed his own, one that served only to intensify the bitter taste of jealousy creeping up his throat.

"Perhaps," Astarion finally replied, his voice filled with false cheerfulness."But at least he knows how to appreciate a good drink." He then mumbled, "Anyway, I should probably take him home," gesturing towards the unconscious man.

As he started to walk away, Tav weakly protested and broke free from Shadowheart's grasp to approach Astarion. "Hold on!" Tav interjected, still unsteady on his feet. "You still haven't answered my question."

A tense quiet settled over them as they locked gazes once more. Astarion could see the mix of emotions in her eyes - confusion, pain, and yet a glimmer of hope. His other self didn't understand, but he did. He saw right through her.

She wanted him to ask for help, because that would mean he was ready to rejoin their group. She needed to help him. To redeem herself and close the wound he had opened a year ago.

He desperately yearned to do it, to return to his friends, to her. Instead, his body betrayed him and spoke on his behalf, "I assure you, Tav," he declared with stiffness in his voice, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "I am doing perfectly well without you."

Like hell you are!

Tav's face fell at his words, her eyes widening in shock and hurt. But before she could respond, Shadowheart spoke up again, her tone sharp and accusatory. "Oh yes, Astarion. You are the very definition of perfectly well." She directed a pointed look to the boy, who was sobering up and looking utterly confused, "You should go home," she said firmly.

The boy stumbled away, casting a final bewildered look at Astarion before disappearing into the darkness. Astarion watched the boy leave and turned his gaze back to Tav. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, but he couldn't explain or apologize, trapped as he was inside his own mistakes.

Tav hesitated for a moment before talking again

"Why didn't you return? We could have searched for a solution together."

Astarion's heart was heavy with the pain in Tav's voice. However, watching them together, watching how they had moved on without him, was stirring up a sick and ugly sensation within his chest. He could feel the longing consuming him, but his future self chose to focus only on the anger instead. Focus on the pride.

"Yeah, looks like you all missed me so much." Astarion quipped bitterly, glancing between Tav and Shadowheart.

Tav flinched like she had been hit. Astarion wanted to hit himself for it.

"Astarion, we didn't mean to hurt you, I-"

"That's not what it looks like. In fact, it seems like you both have moved on quite easily without me."

"Enough, Astarion," Shadowheart snapped, her patience clearly at its end. "Stop playing the victim. You disappeared without a word. What did you expect us to do? Wait for you forever?"

Yes. Maybe.

Tav's words were softer, her face etched with worry and regret. "You could have come to us... we would have helped you..."

Astarion scoffed. "Like hell you would." His tone was bitter, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes. "You were the reason I left in the first place. Your betrayal."

His body had expected to feel relief upon seeing them again... but all he felt now was an overwhelming sense of loss. The sight of Tav and Shadowheart together brought a reality crashing down on him – they had moved on and he was stuck in the past. In the same toxic cycle from his time with Cazador.

There was another tense silence between them as they stood there in the dark alleyway. Astarion could feel their gazes burning into him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes again.

Shadowheart spoke up again. "What are you going to do now?"

Astarion shrugged casually. "Who knows? Maybe I'll just find someone else who actually keeps their promises," he said with a tone of bitterness.

But that was far from the truth. He felt completely isolated and alone, with no one to turn to for comfort or support.

Tav glanced at him once more, her head shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she said brokenly.

No, I'm the one who is sorry.

The need to reach out was overwhelming. But he could just watch in despair as his body decided to keep quiet, and observe as she silently turned around and left.

Shadowheart, however, stayed put, looking at him dead in the eye.

"I thought you'd come back for her, you know?"

I almost did, he told himself, I almost did, but I am a coward.

"You know, I thought you of all people would understand why I left. How could I stay after she ripped me off my only opportunity at freedom?" Astarion responded, finally meeting Shadowheart's gaze.

He expected anger, but was instead met with deep sorrow.

"When you left, something in Tav... it broke. She cried for you, night after night. For months, Astarion."

Of course, he knew. He had seen the scene at the Elfsong Tavern. However, this version of him hadn't.

He scoffed in an attempt to hide his pain, but Shadowheart continued relentlessly.

"She suffered so much because of your selfishness," Shadowheart said, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I had to pick up the pieces, Astarion. I had to convince her not to... not to lose herself."

Astarion felt a wave of guilt wash over him as Shadowheart's words hit him like a physical blow.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say, his voice breaking with emotion.

Shadowheart's expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "Sorry doesn't fix what you've done. What you said," she replied, her tone biting.

"I know," he mumbled quietly, feeling the weight of his mistakes crashing down on him.

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer before Astarion spoke again. "She's hard not to fall in love with, isn't she?"

Shadowheart's eyes opened in surprise, and the softened slightly.

"Yes. Yes, she is," she replied under her breath.

Astarion shook his head.

"Is she happy?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Shadowheart sighed. "She’s getting there," she admitted quietly. "But she won’t be if you drag her back into your mess now."

And he knew what that meant. Let her go. She is happier without you.

Astarion hung his head, feeling a familiar pain bloom in his chest. He was quiet for a long moment before finally looking back up at Shadowheart.

"I won't," he promised, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

Shadowheart’s gaze bore into him for another moment before she nodded, and finally turned to leave.

"And Astarion?" she called over her shoulder, causing him to look up at her again.

"Hmm?"

"I hope you find your happiness too. You deserve it."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Astarion watched as she sauntered towards Tav, who was standing a little ways off. He could barely make out the details of her face from where he was standing but even from the distance, he could tell she was beautiful – more beautiful than he remembered.

Shadowheart gently approached Tav, her hand resting on her arm before leaning in for a tender kiss. Astarion couldn't help but feel like an outsider, witnessing this intimate moment between the two. As he watched them, he noticed the way Tav gazed at Shadowheart with such adoration and love - the same way she used to look at him.

He watched their retreating figures until they disappeared into the night. And his heart threatened to break into smaller pieces at the thought that this had probably been their last conversation.

In a flash, Astarion was once again standing in the void, surrounded by darkness. He felt a sense of unease wash over him as he waited for G'axir's voice to come through again.

See now... Astarion? G'axir's voice echoed around him.

See what? All I see are stars. Astarion asked, feeling frustrated at the cryptic messages.

Amidst the shroud of remorse and longing... lies the opportunity to redefine. Hope's whisper still lingers... in a realm unseen.

Tag list: @tinystarfishgalaxy, @imaginarypetlizard, @nanamisfriedstick, @stuckinaoaktree, @madislayyy, @cosywinterevenings, @fandom-garbage, @generalstephkenobi

a/n: I kind of hate G'axir. If I was Astarion I would be throwing hands, ngl. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the last angsty chapter! Thanks for the support! And lmk if you want to be added to the taglist☺️✨

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[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Note: This story will eventually include bits from the Anime, so you should expect some Spoilers if you haven't watched it. However, everything written here is purely based on the liveaction adaptation.

Please consider that Mihawk is 41 when he first appears in One Piece, which means that the Reader is supposed to be in her thirties at best, even if the age isn't mentioned.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Read on AO3.

CHAPTER 1

The day you headed out to sea from your place of origin, you didn't anticipate the course of your life to take a turn for the worse. Of course, in a world infested by piracy, riots, and wars, you were conscious of the potential perils that lurked in the horizon. However, you did not foresee that you would end up with a bounty on your head for taking the life of a Marine Admiral, who had put you through numerous days of torment and barbarism.

If anyone had conveyed to you about a similar possibilty, you would have deemed it to be a matter beyond your wildest imagination. You? A wanted criminal with the blood of another person on your hands? You were renowned for your compassion in your hometown. You could never harm a fly, no matter how hard you tried. And yet, the time you spent incarcerated for a minor food theft in the East Blue brought forth a substantial change in the person you used to be.

You had no desire of becoming a pirate, least of all taking someone's life the way you did. The legendary treasure, the One Piece, didn't entice you in the slightest, as it could very well be a falsehood concocted to unleash disorder on the world. You were seeking nothing but an outing, a break from the monotonous cycle that had exhausted you for quite a long time. You yearned to be on an adventure, to observe the marvels of the ocean, and to gain your financial stability through ethical methods.

You were once the pride of your family, and the thought of how profoundly disappointed they must have felt for your sullied repute overflowed you with mortification.

For a while, everything was as normal as it could be. You worked from one tavern to another, gathering information about the most formidable pirates setting their sights on the Grand Line. You heard several tales from inhabitants and wayfarers, even from the Marines themselves. You were thoroughly pleased with the experience and the wisdom you were acquiring for your own good during your travels.

Unfortunately, things started to deteriorate when your ship developed a massive leak, to the point where you barely managed to reach the next harbor before capsizing and sinking down. The funds available to you weren’t nearly enough to buy a new one, and thus you had to depend on occasional fishermen or merchants for transportation, still paying them handsomely for their help.

On a day when misfortune struck, you were robbed of all your Berries and supplies due to your naivety. You were unable to report the incident to the authorities as the culprits fled as soon as you set foot on land, leaving you without a single coin in your pockets and no food to sustain you during your wanderings. Without money, you could no longer afford passage by ship or meals at local taverns. You were obliged to begin from the outset, tracking down employment opportunities that seemed increasingly difficult to come by.

And then the harassment began, with unscrupulous dealers or pirates demanding a certain type of payment in exchange for their services, which you naturally rejected. As time passed, you had to resort to adopting a defensive stance the hard way, procuring blades and handguns via questionable channels.

You were tired, demoralized, and desperately hungry. Your suffering clouded your judgment, pushing you towards a path you never thought you would accept as your only option.

And then, you had the not-so-brilliant idea of stealing a piece of bread from a market, thinking that just one time wouldn't really be the end of the world. Little did you know, you were about to seal your own fate, as the Marines happened to walk by just as you committed the act, completely unaware of their presence.

You begged for your freedom, spelling out justifications in the hope that they would provide you with the considerate treatment that innocent citizens were supposed to receive. You were gravely mistaken.

The discovery of two sharp daggers and a fully loaded pistol in your backpack certainly did not aid your predicament. Despite numerous attempts to convince them that you were not a pirate, they refused to listen to your reasoning and brought you directly to the Marine base, where a cold cell awaited your arrival.

They left you there without food and barely any water for three days, until the Admiral in charge finally decided to acknowledge your presence. You had hoped that they would recognize their grave misinterpretation and offer you the justice you were due, but you were astonished to find that the conditions of the enstablishment were just as oppressive as the enclosure of your prison.

The commander wished to gain knowledge pertaining to certain fugitive pirates, whose heads were carrying substantial rewards for their crimes against the Government. In view of this, the man put forth an offer that he reckoned would be difficult for you to refuse; join forces with him in return for your liberty.

The hitch was that, besides knowing their names, you were not well-informed concerning these outlaws. The Admiral was convinced that you were withholding more than you wanted to disclose, referring to you as a member of those despicable parasites. The Marines didn’t even put in the effort to corroborate your innocence prior to deeming you officially guilty, using their prestige as a weapon and exerting power over those who were vulnerable.

Ultimately, after realizing you were unwilling to cooperate, the Admiral employed brute force in a bid to extract any secret you were keeping to yourself. In the confines of your cell, you were left to starve and decay as your body continued to weaken. The man would make daily visits, sadistically using his blade to inflict deep wounds on your back, your shirt being ripped in the process. One slit progressed to two, then three, and then ten, until you were unable to keep track of the number. The persistent agony was compounded by the dripping blood, which formed a revolting pool on the floor and stained your uncomfortable bed.

He was a sadist, twisted by madness, using your body as his canvas.

On the brink of abandoning all your hope and acquiescing into rotting in that prison, a guard entered to release you, apprising you that the Admiral had a final proposal ready for you. By then, you had already lost a considerable amount of weight, and you could barely remain standing on your enfeebled legs. The oldest scars on your back itched as they recovered, though the fresh ones were still moist and soaked with blood.

You were forcefully shoved into the office as the guard closed the door behind you, leaving you on your knees, alone with your jailer. Once again, the Admiral attempted to coerce you with promises of salvation, threatening a proper execution the following day if you didn't comply.

It was evident that he had grown tired of toying with you. The Admiral's obsession with pirates seemed to be a severe mental illness, as he saw evil lurking in every corner, when in reality, he was the only monster in front of you.

The moment he turned his back to you and placed his arms across his torso while looking at the window, you became aware of an opening directly upon his desk. There was an empty plate sitting there, with a fork and knife neatly arranged upon it.

A knife, sharp enough to effortlessly cut through a thick steak.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears as you swallowed hard. Time was of the essence and you needed to act swiftly, without any hesitation whatsoever. Summoning every ounce of energy left in your frail body, you stood up from the polished floor, careful to make minimal noise with your tattered boots. Advancing at a steady pace and with a calculated gait, you went up to the large table, your eyes fixed on the back of the Admiral's head.

Ignoring his eccentric speech, you stealthily grasped the knife by its handle, slowly leading it away from the dish and carefully concealing it inside the sleeve of the meager garment you were still wearing.

You could barely take a couple of steps back before he turned to face you once more, a malicious grin spreading across his lips. He taunted you, expressing his pity for your miserable state and remarking how much fun the two of you could have if only you were smart enough to choose his side.

He walked past the table, extending his big hand to touch your shoulder. You acted on pure instinct as the hunger, resentment, pain, and fear that had consumed you for the longest days of your life surged to the surface all at once. You let the knife slip from your sleeve, tightly gripping it in your hand before delivering a quick and effective stab to his neck, slicing it open.

For a brief moment, you felt nothing. With cold, deadpan eyes, you stared at him as he gurgled and collapsed to the floor. It was only when you saw the blood pouring forth around him that you abruptly snapped back to reality, realizing the gravity of what you had just done.

Panic surged through you when you heard the guard knocking at the door, and from there, everything happened in a blur of rapid movements. As the knob turned, you ran to hide behind the door, seizing the opportunity to slip away when the guard discovered the Admiral's lifeless body in the room. In a rush of agitation, you escaped through the halls and stumbled upon a Marine uniform that was slightly oversized. Fright filled your heart as the shrieking alarm carried on blaring through the base, until at last you managed to end up outside as a disguised cadet.

You discovered an unattended boat moored at the port, which you promptly took control of. Embarking on a journey to an unknown destination, you discarded the stolen uniform in the middle of the ocean, allowing yourself to finally collapse and rest.

The more you pondered on it, the less determined you felt to adhere to the regulations. You believed that the laws and policies of the world were established to serve a better code, but those who worked for the government, meant to become an example to admire and strive to imitate, turned out to be even more despicable than the scum they vilified.

Whenever your scars itched, or someone asked about them to satiate their curiosity, you were reminded of the little trust you could bestow on anyone in your proximity. In the event that even a senior official had the power to pronounce fatal verdicts and physically torment a civilian without carrying out an adequate examination, to whom could you turn for protection?

Ultimately, you realized that the most logical option available for you was to return to your hometown. But then, as you began preparing to leave your life at sea, a wanted poster bearing an image of your disraught face was displayed on the walls.

In that moment, you felt as if you had been shattered into a thousand pieces. You were now persecuted like any other pirate the Marines wanted to capture, and you could no longer travel to your island for the sake of your family and friends. You were alone, lost, on the run from the authorities and bounty hunters.

If they were going to treat you like a pirate, then you would just become one. And so you learned, fought, stole, cheated, and fled, over and over again. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you found yourself living in a way that would prevent you from falling and drowning, training extensively and gaining muscle. You became adept at disguising yourself on the spot, and acquired a set of skills that you never imagined would be fitting for your old, innocent self.

All you could do was endure and survive.

Between your shady deals and overheard conversations, you learned about a certain Warlord of the Sea, and none other than the strongest swordman in the world. A man whom you, with your existing notoriety, should have never dared to cross paths with.

And yet, you did.

Dracule Mihawk, once a dangerous pirate known as the Marine Hunter, had now formed an alliance with the World Government, allowing him to carry out his questionable deeds while putting on a facade of indifference. The first time you laid eyes on him, you were casually strolling down a bustling street. He leaned against a stack of wooden crates, seemingly at ease as he carefully surveyed his surroundings.

You could only identify him based on an outdated, revoked bounty poster that could still be spotted here and there on walls or scattered in the streets. However, at the outset, you didn’t know that he was specifically targeting you of all people.

It became increasingly clear to you that he had been dispatched by the Marines to pursue you relentlessly, as you began to notice his presence wherever you went. You couldn't comprehend how he managed to track your every move, as you were confident that no one was tailing you. Yet, he displayed the stealthiness of a bird of prey, meticulously observing your actions before launching his ultimate assault. You couldn't help but feel intimidated, especially in the presence of his colossal sword and menacing yellow hawk-like eyes, albeit beautiful and captivating.

He didn't even pay you any evident attention until you met his gaze by chance, sparking an electric and unsettling connection between the two of you. Despite his detachment, showing little interest in his surroundings, you couldn't help but notice that the more you tried to hide, the closer he seemed to lurk nearby.

One day, as you hastened your pace, you arrived at a bustling village market, with Mihawk still trailing a few steps behind. You quickly veered towards a clothing stall, feigning fascination in the assortment of hats and dresses on display. The merchant, a friendly middle-aged man with long hair and a sumptuous beard, warmly urged you to explore more of his wares in the privacy of a fitting booth.

In order to alter your appearance, you donned a voluminous, frilly red dress that gracefully swept the floor, effectively hiding your outfit underneath. To further conceal yourself, you completed the look with a matching hat that kept your hair securely tucked away.

As Mihawk strolled by the stall, you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror before you. Maintaining your composure, you intentionally raised the pitch of your voice, exclaiming with exaggerated enthusiasm about the vibrant colors and exquisite materials of the dresses, even altering your accent.

The merchant's genuine excitement warmed your heart despite your act. After paying for the clothing, you bid the man farewell with a gentle wave and walked in the opposite direction, leaving the stall and stealing a final glance behind.

You caught sight of the Warlord’s sword and the white feather of his hat vanishing amidst the crowd. With a satisfied smile grazing your lips, you turned on your heels and dashed towards the docks where your new boat awaited you.

Just over a month later, you found yourself once again face-to-face with the swordman, this time at a tavern in a different part of the East Blue. Despite his distance from your position at the bar, the frequent glances you exchanged with each other evoked a completely different sensation.

In a peculiar manner, he seemed to be savoring the chase, never resorting to his strength or speed to corner you. Instead, he engaged in a game of hide and seek, seemingly finding amusement in the pursuit.

Naturally, you weren't foolish enough to approach his table and engage in conversation with a man who was likely plotting to hand you over to the authorities. After emptying your glass, you rose from the bar and made your way outside into the open air. Without bothering to check if he was following, you skillfully maneuvered yourself through corners and darted down alleys, searching for the most efficient shortcut you could find. Finally, you arrived at your vessel and embarked on another voyage, mustering the courage to look at the docks as the boat moved further away.

Mihawk stood there, unmoving, his expression void of any emotion, his golden eyes piercing into you without a single blink.

And just as it had happened before, a grin spread across your face. It was a triumphant gesture, a deliberate provocation to show him that you were also thoroughly enjoying the game. Mihawk remained unfazed, turning away and retracing his steps without making any attempt to pursue you by sea.

This pattern continued for quite some time, with more encounters scattered all over the East Blue. Each one of them ended with your successful escape, leaving his intense gaze fixed upon you. At some point, you began to suspect that he was intentionally letting you get away. It seemed unbelievable that a skilled fighter with his reputation would consistently be defeated by a novice like yourself.

While it was initially exhilarating and you liked the thrill of the challenge, in the end, it left you with a profound emptiness in your heart. Dracule Mihawk was undeniably a handsome man, but his attention proved incapable of filling the void that lingered within you. This was primarily due to his unfriendly intentions, as he solely aimed to capture you eventually. The truth was that you deeply missed your family, friends, and the mundane life that you could no longer reclaim. Ever since obtaining that bounty, you had to sever all contact with your loved ones for their safety. The overwhelming sense of loneliness and the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle weighed heavily on you, leaving an intense craving for a definitive way out that appeared impossible to find at the time.

Your reasoning led you to the conclusion that if Mihawk's true intention was to hand you over to the Marines, he would have to kill you in the process.

While you didn't necessarily desire death to befall you, the life of a pirate had its limitations when it came to joy and fulfillment. It simply wasn't the path meant for you, and you couldn't help but wish you had known what awaited you beyond your familiar surroundings before leaving behind everything and everyone you held dear.

You were utterly exhausted, drained both physically and emotionally. The scars on your back had fully healed and partially faded, but they still left behind a collection of unsightly, rough marks that marred your skin. You were so desperate to avoid setting foot in another Marine base that you would have willingly allowed Mihawk to annihilate you.

And so, the next time you saw him, it was meant to be the very last.

Voices reached your ears, hinting at the existence of a cave brimming with wonders on a small, inhabited piece of land. Given the prevalence of pirates eager to seize anything valuable, you didn't have high expectations for what you might discover. fueled by curiosity and with no pressing obligations, you made the bold choice to embark on this adventure, inspect the cave and fearlessly delve into its depths.

As you had anticipated, there were footprints marking the sandy and muddy terrain within the cave. Empty treasure chests were scattered about, their contents long since plundered. You could only salvage a few scattered pieces of gold and jewelry that had been left behind in various locations.

Though the loot may not have been plentiful, it was still a satisfying outcome after such a long journey. Your focus was captivated by a ring that could have easily been overlooked, partially buried in the sand with only a corner of its metallic surface peeking out. It was a stunning golden band embellished with a raw emerald gemstone, a piece that felt perfectly suited for you and one that you eagerly anticipated wearing once it had been thoroughly cleaned.

Silver chains, leather strings, sparkling gemstones, and ethnic rings. You cherished collecting these pieces from your travels as mementos, a way to etch every experience into your memory, symbolize your personal growth, and serve as a reminder that you were alive and thriving.

With your bag partially filled with your newly discovered treasures, you gracefully emerged from the cave, feeling the gentle breeze caress your hair. Lost in contemplation, you strolled along the shoreline, your eyes set upon your boots as they sank into the sand, making a satisfying sound with each step.

It took a moment for you to realize that you were no longer alone on the island. Someone stood just a few feet away, observing your approaching figure with a composed expression.

As you finally raised your gaze, your heart started pounding, and a sense of unease coiled in your stomach. Standing before you was Dracule Mihawk, his piercing golden eyes locked on you.

Gradually, your movements slowed until you finally came to a halt. Despite the noticeable distance separating the two of you, he made no attempt to close the gap. His stance exhibited no hint of malice; his hands rested calmly at his sides as he observed you, not even reaching for his sword.

The longer you locked eyes with him, the less inclined you felt to leave. With a subtle smile, you displayed unwavering determination and proceeded to walk forward with confidence. Mihawk remained motionless, offering no indication of initiating combat as you drew nearer, leaving his intentions cloaked in enigma.

You walked past him, deliberately avoiding eye contact and redirecting your attention to the path ahead. Your ears remained vigilant, attuned to the surrounding sounds, making sure that he wasn't closely trailing behind you.

However, shattering the silence, his voice suddenly reached your ears, and you heard him speak for the first time since it all began.

"You are quite challenging to track down.”

You stopped abruptly, clutching the bag tightly on your shoulder. Swallowing hard, you fought to suppress the lump that formed in your throat. His voice, like liquid honey, flowed effortlessly, captivating your attention and exuding a calmness that instantly alleviated your nerves.

You took a deep breath, reluctantly acknowledging that the sound of his voice was stirring emotions within you that you weren't ready to confront at this moment.

You turned around, meeting his golden eyes once again. “Not that much for you, apparently,” you retorted, your words laced with a hint of defiance.

For a brief moment, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the corners of his lips twitching, as if hinting at a smile. However, it immediately disappeared, leaving only a trace of its presence.

"Now what?" you asked him. "Are you finally going to capture me and hand me over? If that's the case, then you'll have to kill me. I won't put up any resistance.”

“Is that so?”

No matter how much you strained to interpret his expression, he appeared remarkably disinterested, showing no signs of engagement or emotion.

You shrugged, "We both know that I wouldn't stand a chance against your sword. The bounty poster states 'dead or alive,' and I doubt they would be concerned about the state I'm in as long as I'm eliminated.”

Casting a fleeting glance at the sword at your hip, he emitted a curious hum, tilting his head slightly to the side, almost imperceptibly. Silence settled between the two of you, accompanied only by the gentle rhythm of the waves, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the atmosphere.

You waited patiently, but he made no indication of taking any action against you.

"Well, that was quite the delightful conversation," you remarked sarcastically, pivoting on your heels and resuming your stride.

As your eyes landed on your boat in the distance, you suddenly realized that the urge to hasten your steps had dissipated. The weariness of constantly running away had taken root in you, leaving you with a profound sense of homelessness, unable to find a place where you truly belonged.

To your surprise, you heard him steadily moving behind you, his footsteps synchronizing with your own in a deliberate and unhurried rhythm. You continued along your path, maintaining silence, a part of you anticipating a powerful strike that would bring you down. However, to your relief, the enigmatic man made no attempt to impede you. Not even a hint of hostility could be sensed.

As your nervousness heightened, you made a deliberate choice to pause, silently inviting him to draw nearer. With caution, your hand moved to release the dagger from its secure holster on your belt. A quick glance at the subtle shadows cast on the sand confirmed that he was now mere inches away, in your immediate proximity.

In one seamless motion, you spun around, positioning your blade against his throat without applying any pressure. It served as a warning, your glare speaking volumes without the need for words.

Mihawk remained unaffected, appearing to disregard the presence of the dagger entirely. Frustration surged, causing you to tighten your grip on the hilt of the knife, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

"Are you seriously planning to follow me around without making a move?" you demanded, your voice tinged with exasperation. "How much longer do you think I can endure this game of cat and mouse?"

"You can lower that knife," he replied, his tone filled with discontent. "I have no intention of causing you any harm.”

As you observed him up close for the first time, you couldn't help but feel a slight infatuation with his striking appearance. His eyes held a captivating allure, his face partially shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, and his dark hair cascading in soft curls at the nape of his neck.

In an effort to regain composure, you cautiously withdrew the blade from his throat, though you kept your hand poised and prepared.

"Didn't the Marines send you after me?" you asked.

"Oh, they certainly did."

"And you're not going to obey the orders?"

Mihawk let out a quiet scoff, looking away from you and briefly gazing upward. "I don't take orders," he stated firmly.

You instinctively took a step back, regarding him with suspicion as your eyes carefully scanned him from head to toe. "They say that the Warlords of the Sea are nothing more than lapdogs of the Government.”

His golden irises locked onto you once more, seemingly a threatening gesture. However, undeterred, you pressed on. "Enlighten me, then. What should I believe? What other purpose could you possibly have in relation to me?”

You allowed your hand to fall to your side, although with a tight grip on the hilt of the dagger. Mihawk contemplated his response, ultimately giving you the most nonchalant look imaginable.

“I’m just killing some time.”

You took a moment to process what he had told you. "I'm sorry, what?" you responded, seeking clarification.

"Although I do find you intriguing,” he added.

You were left speechless, your mouth hanging open. "You don't even know me," you replied with incredulity.

"I’ve seen enough. And I am aware of your reputation.”

Crossing your arms, you took care not to accidentally cut the leather sleeve of your jacket in the process. "What's so intriguing about my reputation?”

Mihawk pressed his lips together before responding, "A woman escaping a base full of Marines, completely unarmed? That's not something you hear every day.”

You rolled your eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those sexist bastards who think women can't handle themselves.”

"Quite the contrary. Not even most men would be able to escape that situation unscathed.”

You stood there, a smug grin adorning your face as you watched him. It would be a lie to say that it didn't give your ego a significant boost.

But deep down, the memories of those days still twisted your insides. "Who said I came out unscathed?" you retorted. "And this doesn't explain much either. You said you have no intention of handing me over, so what's your motive, Warlord?”

"Perhaps I wanted to personally verify your worth.”

Unable to contain yourself, you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "In other words, you were bored.”

"I can become quite laidback when I don't have anything interesting to occupy my time," he said casually.

A part of you found him entertaining, but at the same time, his way of speaking to you continued to irritate you. "Well, at least you can afford to be laidback now that your bounty has been cancelled.”

Your retort was filled with venom and resentment, yet once again, Mihawk appeared unfazed by it. "With or without a bounty, I wouldn't do anything differently.”

You started to question the authenticity of the rumors surrounding this man, considering how different he was from your initial expectations. The fact that he hadn't made any aggressive moves towards you made you wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Evidently, his immunity with the Government held little importance to him. He exhibited a keenness to discover something, anything, that could captivate his time and attention, disregarding any orders he may have received. He pursued his own interests, driven by personal motivations above all else.

"That's a shame," you murmured. "I'm afraid I'm not as interesting as you may have assumed. The only thing I excel at is disguising myself.”

"You are underestimating yourself.”

"How so?”

"You mercilessly killed a Marine Admiral. You managed to evade all pirate hunters who pursued you and successfully escaped from me multiple times.”

"All I did was survive.”

"And you have been successful in that, so far.”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a gust of wind swept through your hair. "Do you know what it's like? To be separated from your family, unable to even reach out to them because you're constantly being chased wherever you go?”

Mihawk remained silent, attentively observing your reaction.

And then, he spoke. "Such are the perils of a life on the open seas, I'm afraid.”

"I made one mistake, and I've been punished in the harshest way possible. How is that fair? They left me with no other choice. I had to do what I did.”

"You don't need to justify yourself to me," he replied calmly, his tone devoid of judgment.

"You say that, yet here you stand. No offense, but why should I place my trust in you?”

As your heart raced in your chest, its strong beats reverberating through your body, you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, Mihawk remained as calm and serene as ever.

"Do as you wish," he said with a casual shrug. "But I must say, you are quite unrefined. Your movements are predictable, and unless you learn to control them, you won't last much longer.”

You raised an eyebrow at his statement, letting out a laugh that was a mix of amusement and surprise. It seemed like a blend of criticism and advice, leaving you intrigued by his words.

"What's this? Now you suddenly want to offer me your help?" you questioned skeptically. "I never asked for your guidance. Whether I live or die is my own concern," you declared firmly.

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying as if he were scrutinizing you closely, studying every detail.

"Unless," you continued, leaning forward and bringing your face dangerously close to his, exuding confidence, almost brushing his lips with yours. "-you want to be the one to push me to my limits," you added, your words carrying a daring challenge.

His typically stoic expression, always composed and unwavering, appeared to subtly shift in response to your audacious gesture. You could catch a whiff of his captivating scent, a blend of cologne, sea salt, and earth, filling your senses.

You had to quickly pull away from his taller figure, concealing the faint blush that was starting to creep onto your cheeks.

"What's the final verdict, Warlord?" you taunted. "After all, you were given explicit orders to capture me.”

Your blade made contact with the golden cross he wore around his neck and pressed against his chest, the sound of metal against metal resonating in the air. The open coat he wore left little to the imagination, revealing that he had indeed chosen not to wear a shirt underneath.

You returned to your serious and sincere demeanor, looking up to meet his hawk-like eyes once more. Your stern and courageous facade was starting to waver, but you were determined not to let a stranger see your vulnerability, especially when your life was on the line and his intentions remained uncertain.

You chuckled with amusement as you securely placed the knife back into its holster. What am I supposed to do?" you pondered aloud, more to yourself than to him.

“Grow strong and keep fighting,” he declared. "If you don’t wish to die sooner rather than later. Certainly, it won't be by my hand.”

His words left you speechless, leaving you without a proper answer as he walked past you, now the one departing. You turned around, staring at the intricate details and embroideries adorning his coat. With each step he took, his sword lightly swayed on his back, creating a graceful and mesmerizing motion.

"They won't be pleased with that," you raised your voice, ensuring that he could hear you. This prompted him to pause and briefly turn his head, acknowledging your words.

"They never are," he replied with a tone of resignation before resuming his journey, leaving you behind.

A smile of relief and respect formed on your lips as you reflected on the man who had relentlessly chased you, only to ultimately allow you to go free. Somehow, he perceived something valuable and worthy in you that led him to defy the orders of the Marines, opting for a confrontation that didn't resort to physical violence.

As he became a tiny speck in the distance, you readjusted the bag on your shoulders and set off towards your own ship. A newfound sense of confidence coursed through your veins like never before, propelling you forward into the unknown.

Yes, you had firmly believed that seeing him at that moment would undoubtedly be the ultimate encounter.

Except that it wasn’t.

Go to Chapter 2 ->

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Wildflower: 03

The Secret Garden

Category: Short Series

John Wick x Reader

Warning: Public violence, public shootout, stampede-like situation

Note: John is relatively younger in this fic( late thirties to early forties)

The gif is not mine. Credits to the original creator (Sorry, I don't remember where I downloaded it from)

Unedited

Wildflower 02

She enjoyed Alex’s company and so, it was a pub one evening, a bakery one weekend, and a cafe the other weekday. Having a reliable company in the vast city was a blessing indeed. They explored the city on days he could get time off his hectic job, went on random cycling trips to the central park and always had something to talk about.

It was on one such outing when they were engaged in a heated discussion regarding the accuracy of ‘historical facts’ when someone interrupted them. 

“Norton.”

It was a familiar voice that made her turn round. Over the bench where they sat, loomed a tall figure, dressed in all black.

 “Wick?”

The silence that followed was not long, but felt dense.

John Wick’s eyes found hers and he blinked. There was something more than a stoic gaze this time.

“You working, Wick?” Alex asked.

Did they know each other?

“Yeah.”

That was all he gave. He was, indeed, a man of few words.

“Hello, John.” She greeted him, earning his gaze again.

“Hello, (Y/N).” It was his usual voice– low, deep, calm.

But there was something about the way her name rolled off his tongue. It felt different. (Y/N) gulped and mentally shook her head. No, she was overthinking again. She smiled at him, in return, she received a softened eyes.

“You on vacation Norton?”

His gaze turned to her friend– there was almost something unreal about the flicker– maybe it was the way the light fell into her eyes, but they seemed to turn almost mechanical when they turned to Alex– no trace of softness, just…well something.

“Showing around my friend.” Alex replied, but there was a heaviness in his voice. No trace of the light, amused, cool tone she knew.

John nodded curtly “I see…”

“We will get going then.” Alex smiled politely, her bag already in his hold, a silent indication that they needed to leave.

For some reason, despite the doubts and the confusion, she did not question him.

—---

John’s hands remained inside his coat pockets— tightly fisted, knuckles paling as he watched them walk away. It should not matter. He told himself. 

Why did it disturb him?

John Wick considered himself a simple man. At least in terms of his needs, his priorities– his business.

So why was this one simple civilian, so intriguing to him? Who had nothing to do with him, or his business. 

John looked away. Admitting that Winston was right. He was fascinated— fascinated by how oblivious she was, fascinated by her perception of the world around her, fascinated by her simple, (comparatively) unproblematic– normal life. Normalcy– something John could not even wish for– but he craved it. He craved it so bad that it ached. Although now, it was a dull, suppressed throb– his childhood was marred with this…ache, this yearning to be another person on the street– mundane, normal, ordinary.

She was so ordinary, simple yet so complex– with layers of emotions and thoughts that her eyes would always give away. It had, for the first time, John’s heart thumping– like he was in the middle of emotions, not above it– and yet, he did not hate the feeling. 

That was perhaps the reason why he had followed her from two days ago– Alex Norton was good, but not good enough to detect John until he did not want to be detected. He was John Wick after all.

They were friends, he could tell and yet, her speaking so freely, laughing with another man had set an unexpected burn in his chest. Even at thus age, this was a question he felt tumultuous about?

He was just observing. 

Just observing.

Then why did it matter if her smile– that seemed like the sun rising on a field of wildflowers— was directed at someone else? Why did it matter that her laughter, that sped up his heart slightly, was directed at some other man?

John could have the answers if he tried, delved deep enough. 

He simply did not want to have the answers.

Turning away, sat himself down on the bench they had been sitting on. Her spot was still warm, and John, though reluctant, admitted to himself that it felt good– closer to something he could never have.

—----

It was supposed to be a simple deed. Shoot and walk away without anyone noticing. But the drug dealer had a good hand with guns and fists. John could feel a bruise blooming on the side of his face as he chased the man. A head that had the prize of two million dollars on it. 

It was not an exclusive contract and he had already fought off one assassin in the pursuit of putting one prized bullet into that dealer’s head. From the corner of his eye, he could see another figure moving past the unsuspecting, ignorant crowd. At least they appeared ‘unsuspecting’. John knew that more or less, people had just grown used to, grown indifferent. 

He moved past people, shoving some out of his way as he—

BANG! BANG!

John cursed, glancing at the man running parallel to him. And like a typical newcomer, he had to have no silencer. That was when the chaos burst out, people scrambled to get away, screaming, crying, running around. John growled in frustration as he chased his target faster.

Enough of this game.

With one bullet from John, the dealer was down. His eyes found the new assassin— cold and steely—  at least the boy had some sense to get scurry away. 

Mingling with the crowd, he walked the panickem— ready to exit. When he saw her.

Her eyes were wide and confused, looking around in panic as people shoved and bumped past her. She almost fell when someone screamed that there was a shooting going on. John did not know when he stopped, just to watch her. He simply observed, and each little expression transfixed him somehow.

John gulped, watching her eyes widen in fear before she ran off too, not even noticing that the bag she carried had dropped on the floor.

Before he knew it, John was moving towards the bag. Picking it up, he dusted it before zipping it open. His eyes wandered through the contents. Maybe he could find a way to return—

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the familiar black card. Blinking, John fished it out of the bag, bringing it to the light.

“Winston…” He whispered to himself.

****

[marvelstoriesepic]

Breaking Chains (2)

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x reader

Series Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by invisible chains.

Chapter word count: 6.3k

Warnings: flashback to toxic relationship, abuse and possessiveness; vomiting; toxic parents; nightmare; self-preservation; anxiety

Author’s note: Here’s the second part. Let me know if you want to be tagged on the next one. Thank you for the support!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Michael!”

“Michael, stop!”

You chased after your boyfriend, steps pounding over the wooden floorboards of your apartment that felt little like home since you shared it with him.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, lead filled your stomach and your cheek was still stinging from a few moments earlier when his palm had met your face in a swift motion.

The sound of the mixer lid opening reverberated through the apartment and panic surged within you as you quickened your pace.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen where he stood beside the kitchen counter, the mixer sitting innocently next to the microwave. Michael held your phone precariously over the open mixer, his other hand poised to turn it on. Tension crackled in the air, though that was a known occurrence by now. As was the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Another call lit up the screen of your phone - your coworker who had tried to check in with you a few times this week, since you haven’t shown up at work for a while now, Michael not letting you leave the house. However, the many messages and unanswered calls in the last minutes reached the peak of his rage, and his patience - there wasn’t much to begin with - wearing thin.

“You’re not going back there again, do you understand that?”

The deadly calm of his threat weighed heavily on you, bearing you down, suffocating you.

“Michael-”

“Do you understand?” He roared, his whole body shaking with rage.

“Yes. So leave it be. Put it down Michael, you don’t need to do this!”

You walked towards him, eyes wide and arms out in front of you. Trembling hands reached out to grab your phone, pulling it out of his white-knuckled grasp. Before you could retreat, his grip wrapped around your arms instead, his touch like a vice. His hard gaze sent shivers down your spine, his dark eyes burning with a fury that seemed to consume him from within. His voice was laced with venom.

“You fucking bitch!”

You knew what came next, got used to the routine by now - the shouting, the violence, the destruction. It was a cycle that seemed impossible to break, a cycle that left you feeling numb. When he shoved you aside, your body collided painfully with the counter, but you barely registered the pain. It was a familiar sensation. So you stood there, frozen in place, as he continued his rampage, his voice cutting through the air like knives. His arms were wildly thrashing around, aggressive shouting meeting the walls of your apartment.

Picture frames crashed to the ground, their glass surfaces shattering into a thousand pieces, mirroring the shattered fragments of your once-hopeful relationship. The couch bore the scars of his anger, indentations where his feet had collided with its surface in a fit of fury. A book lay abandoned on the coffee table, its pages now crumpled and torn. You had forgotten about the plot anyway.

As he stormed through the room, his voice booming with unrestrained anger, you found yourself detached from the chaos unfolding before you, his words not registering in your mind - a protective barrier. You had been here before and it would happen again.

Bile rose up your throat. All the things he destroyed were remnants of the life you shared. The life you despised. Usually, you were able to swallow it back down but your eyes drifted to the coat rack where your jacket molded with his, and the nausea churning your stomach threatened to overwhelm you.

With a desperate lurch, you tore yourself away from the chaos unfolding in the living room and sprinted across the hallway toward the bathroom. You stumbled inside, barely managing to reach the toilet before the contents of your stomach erupted in a violent rush. The sound of Michaels' raging voice echoed in your ears like a distant storm.

“Ugh, you disgusting bitch!” Michaels' curses reached your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut. You heard keys jingling, indicating that he was making a hasty exit. “You better get a grip before I come back, or you’ll pay!”

His parting threat hung in the air like a dark cloud as you heard the door slam. You slummed against the bathroom floor, cold tiles pressing against your back. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the bitter taste of bile still lingering in your mouth.

You didn’t know how long you laid there. But as you pushed yourself up from the floor, your muscles protested and your back felt sore. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you leaned heavily against the sink, reaching for your toothbrush to scrub away the remnants of bile.

As you leaned down to spit out the foamy toothpaste, your eyes caught something beneath the sink, lying on the floor. Your heart skipped a beat, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It was your phone. You had snatched it from Michaels' grasp before his anger spiraled out of control and he hadn’t retrieved it before he left in haste, not wanting to deal with a vomiting girl.

Clammy hands reached down to pick it up and you and unlocked it. Michael had changed your password but seemingly forgot to delete your fingerprint. In a blur of urgency, your fingers flew over the screen, calling back your coworker.

Carol had eased you over the phone and left her own apartment with a quick ‘hold tight, kid’ in a rush to get to you. Relief flooded your senses as she gained herself access to your home by picking the lock. You didn’t know how long Michael would be gone and you felt your heart beating erratically the whole time you packed your few possessions into the boxes Carol had gathered. She had offered you her place to stay but you declined, knowing you had to put some distance between him and yourself.

Your eyes flew open, the sudden jolt rippling you from the clutches of the memory that had ensnared you in its chilling grip. You tried to catch a breath, feeling sweat coating your skin like a clammy shroud.

A hand was running soothing patterns on your back and your eyes focused on Wanda sitting beside you in your bed, concern etched deep into her features. She was talking but her voice didn’t reach your ears, distant words that seemed lost in the disorientating fog of your mind.

It took some moments for her voice to pierce through the haze. “I need you to breathe Y/n, come on!” She urged softly, not letting up to rub your back.

You managed to draw in a few shaky breaths as you clung to the sheets beneath you. Your racing heart calmed down and the room seemed to come into sharper focus. A heavy sigh left your lips.

Wanda’s touch gently withdrew from your back after your breaths visibly evened out again. She kept sitting on the edge of your bed, a sigh in her breath. A sense of tranquility hung in the air, a heaviness settling like a veil of velvet.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Surprisingly, that was all you needed. You sat there, bathed in the soft glow of the moon filtering through the windows, and a sense of comfort washed over you. You had kept your struggles hidden for so long, afraid to burden her with your troubles but the weight of your past pressed down on you like a heavy cloak and she obviously knew something was going on. Your friendship had taken a soft blow due to your silence and you refused to grant Michael the satisfaction he would most definitely feel of prolonging it.

So after your small nod, Wanda slid under your sheets, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth. With each word that tumbled from your lips, you unburdened yourself of the weight that had been taking residence in your chest for so long.

You recounted the early days of your relationship with Michael, the tender moments and sweet gestures that had initially swept you off your feet. His charm had been intoxicating, his affection seemingly boundless. That was as far as you told your friends.

But then you also told her about the darker, more sinister side of Michaels' personality, that came out after a while. How his possessiveness had escalated gradually and the need to control everything - dictating where you could go, who you could see, and what you could wear. Raised voices and heated arguments had become the norm, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation.

You let her examine the bruises that still littered your wrists from the day before - the day you left. You had become adept at hiding the evidence of Michaels' abuse, concealing the physical manifestations of his cruelty beneath layers of clothing and make-up. Yet, as they lay exposed for Wanda to see, a strange sense of relief washed over you.

Tears were shed, both, Wanda's and yours and it took a while until everything that gripped at your heart was laid bare, sunlight now filtering through the curtains but Wanda listened intently. She held your hand when you choked on words and offered you the kind of comfort you had been craving for years, a weight being lifted from your shoulders.

She embraced you in a tight hug after you were done. “I’m so sorry, Y/n! I’m so sorry!” It was the only thing she could manage, struggling to find her voice.

****

Brick walls stared back at you hauntingly. They had a different color now. The sunlight played upon the textured surface, casting shadows that danced across the facade, accentuating the subtle variations in color.

You noticed the meticulous attention to detail that had gone into the renovation of your parent's house. The one you grew up in. Though it felt little like the house you knew. The mortar between the bricks appeared fresh, neatly applied to fill in any gaps and cracks that had formed over the years you lived there. Your parents seemed to have taken care to restore the exterior, washing away any indications that you had lived there not long ago.

The wooden doorframe gleamed with a fresh coat of varnish, the scratches on its surface you were responsible for, when you were a kid not visible anymore. The brass doorknob was polished, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling glints.

In the driveway, parked in the spot, where your old family car used to rest was a vehicle you didn’t recognize - a sleek, modern model that seemed out of place in the suburban neighborhood. Your parents never told you about the new car or anything else they did to the house, living their life without you.

A bucket of ice water could have been poured over your head and you wouldn’t have felt much colder than you already did. It was a sunny day, you even had to squint your eyes and still got blinded but nothing could make you feel warm at the sight of the house in front of you that looked so familiar, yet foreign. You felt disconnected from the life you once had here.

Your mother never had a hand at gardening, her forgetfulness to water the potted plants she still put in every corner of your house and in front of it, resulted in withered blooms and dried leaves strewn across the ground until she got annoyed and threw them out. A reflection of your relationship.

So you found yourself staring at the tended flower beds and carefully arranged pots now littering the front yard with a bitterness that left your mouth dry. The sudden burst of enthusiasm for gardening she must have had felt like a slap in the face, the realization that your departure had inadvertently paved the way for your mother to rediscover herself in ways she had never before considered.

You thought about knocking. Maybe it was a fleeing wish your parents would welcome you with open arms and a smile on their faces. But that possibility was small - or not there at all. Sorrow filled your stomach at the thought of facing your parents, or confronting the painful truth that they had moved on without you. You had become a distant memory in their lives already, a footnote in the narrative of their newfound happiness.

Your arrival wouldn’t be met with relieved smiles and comfort, it would only serve to reopen old wounds and stir up long-buried resentments - you would be a burden. The weight of reality bore down upon you with crushing force.

“What are you doing there looking like a lost lamb?”

Your head snapped away from the house with the lost fragments of your childhood, gaze meeting the weathered visage of an elderly man slowly making his way towards you on the sidewalk you have been standing on for who knows how long. He leaned on a sturdy walking stick, a flat hat resting atop his grey hair.

Your eyes widened upon seeing him better. “Mr. Clark!” you exclaimed, a warm sensation making way in your stomach at the old shopkeeper of the gardening store further down the road you always passed on your way to school as a kid.

You vividly remembered the time you had stumbled and fallen on the sidewalk, knees and hands scraped, and tears streaming down your cheeks. He had seen you trip through the windows of his shop and rushed out to ease you and take you home. He had been more gentle than your mother was.

Upon hearing his name the old man’s gaze sharpened and a slow smile crept across his face. He halted a few inches away from you, hooded eyes scanning your features. “Well, well,” he mused, “Would you look at who’s come back to town.” His gaze lingered on you, it looked like he could see right through you. “Been a while since I’ve seen you around, child. You look different. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

Did you look different?

You had no idea what you looked like the last time you were around.

“Yeah, I haven’t been here for quite some time.”

A sheepish chuckle escaped your lips and your eyes drifted back to the house.

Mr. Clark followed your gaze and he took a big breath. “I’m sorry about your parents kid. It’s a shame they left town. I don’t even know where it took them.” He kept his eyes on the building but your gaze burned in his side.

Your heart constricted inside your chest, feeling like it had just been pierced by thousands of small needles. You didn’t feel yourself breathing and were unable to blink.

Left town?

Your parents had left town?

You guessed that was the confirmation you needed. The final blow, the definite proof that they had moved on without you. You had clung to the hope that perhaps, deep down, they still cared and that there was still a chance to mend the fractured relationship between them and you. But now that hope felt like nothing more than a cruel illusion - a mirage in the desert of your longing.

Slowly, your eyes shifted back to the house in front of you. The neatly arranged pots of plants, the well-tended front guard, the fresh coat of paint, the new car - it all made sense now. It wasn’t your parents who had renovated the house, but rather the people who lived in it now.

Guilt consumed you like a relentless beast, tearing at your insides with its sharp claws and gnashing teeth. If you hadn’t left and just followed the path your parents had laid out for you, then perhaps they would still be here. If you finished college they probably would still be a part of your life. If you-

“Is everything alright, child? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The voice of Mr. Clark once again snapped you back to reality with a subtle flinch. You tried a smile reaching your lips but it might have come out as more of a grimace.

“Uh, yeah. I-” you started, choking on your words, but Mr. Clark had already resumed his walk, indicating you to follow him with a wink of his walking stick.

“I think you could use some water, dear.”

A weary sigh left your lips but you felt too tired to relent, so you met his pace, walking side by side.

You neared the gardening store, he still seemed to have kept in his old days. “The boys will be there already,” he remarked. You turned to him confused.

“The boys?”

You saw the bikes first. Two of them, parked in front of the gardening store that - other than anything else in this town as it felt like - hadn’t changed at all since you left. You recognized those bikes. They stood outside the bar the day before yesterday when you dragged Pietro home and met some of the bikers for the first time. The telltale dent in the front of one of them caught your attention as it had that evening. A stark contrast against the pristine surface of its companion.

Then two figures came into sight. One leaned casually against the wall near the opening of the store, exuding an air of nonchalance, shoulders shaking with a laugh as he had his arms crossed in front of his chest. The other stood before him, his body language tinged with irritation. A hand came up to run over his face.

As you drew closer to the store the figures standing in the shadows began to take shape and you recognized them immediately. It was Sam and Bucky. Sam was leaning against the wall, his teasing grin on display, a laugh in his breath. A groan from Bucky met your ears and although he stood with his back to you, annoyance radiated from him in waves.

Sam seemed to have spotted you, judging by the smile that lifted his cheeks as he pushed off the wall and uncrossed his arms. “What a way to meet again!” he called out to you.

You surely hadn’t expected to meet them here and it threw you off the loop for a second but Sam’s bright grin managed a genuine smile to reach your eyes. Bucky had turned around and you met his gaze briefly but before you could conjure up another smile or read his expression, Mr. Clark walked past you with a jingle of his keys, to open the door to his shop.

“That girl stood there pale as a ghost. Thought some water would do her well, eh?” he declared, letting out a gruff chuckle. “Don’t want her passing out on the sidewalk.” His voice, weathered by age, held a hint of concern, albeit expressed in a rather blunt manner that had a blush creeping up your cheeks in embarrassment.

The old man entered the store and you quickly fell into step behind him, not needing the two guys to dwell on your momentary discomfort.

You picked up that Sam had been about to say something but then a grunt escaped his lips behind you, followed by an aggravated “Damn you, man,” directed at Bucky who had evidently delivered a punch to Sam’s side.

You never really had entered Mr. Clark's store before - Never really were in need of a gardening supply but the interior bore the marks of age with a weathered elegance, the wooden shelves displaying an assortment of gardening supplies with a sense of rustic charm. Vintage gardening posters and faded photographs adorned the walls, adding to its nostalgic allure.

However, you barely had a moment to take in the store's ambiance before Mr. Clark practically ushered you into a wooden chair behind the small counter and disappeared behind a nearby door.

“Mr. Clark, you really don’t have to-” you began calling after him but your words were swiftly interrupted as he reappeared, handing you a glass of water.

“Drink the water, child,” he ordered and diverted his attention to the two guys standing a few feet away, seemingly caught up in a glaring contest. “And you two boys, stop with the stalling and get on with the work. That’s what you are here for, aren’t you?.”

With a final warning glare towards Sam, Bucky’s demeanor shifted from tense to purposeful as he began to pick up a lawn mower standing next to the entrance and moved the heavy machinery to where Mr. Clark indicated.

Meanwhile, Sam took charge of the flower pots, rearranging them with care. From your vantage point behind the counter, you observed their actions, nibbling at your water when Mr. Clark sent you a glare across the room. They didn’t appear to be here out of obligation or duty, but rather out of a genuine desire to assist an old man who needed a helping hand - not being able to do it on his own anymore, but without wanting to give up his well-loved shop.

It seemed so ordinary for them to be here and do the work for this old man, it made you wonder what else they did around town - what other acts of kindness they might be involved in. Guilt found its way back to you, settling in your stomach and making it churn. The revelation that they actually appeared to be good-hearted people, had first dawned on you after your first initial encounter two days ago, but seeing them like this, engaged in such a well-meant act of kindness, solidified that understanding even further.

You took a few more sips of the water, hoping its coolness would calm the fluttering sensations in your chest. But the effect was fleeting, especially when you caught sight of the smile Bucky directed towards Mr. Clark.

It wasn’t that kind of smile you knew of Sam but it was more you had seen of him at the bar. It lit up his features with warmth and sincerity, small crinkles formed at the edges of his eyes - it was disarmingly charming.

He had shrugged off his jacket to better tackle the task at hand, revealing toned muscles rippling beneath his long-sleeved shirt. Lifting another lawn mower with ease, Bucky’s back muscles contorted visibly. His hands were both covered with gloves and you noticed the little specks of dirt that had accumulated on his jeans throughout but he didn’t seem to mind.

You quickly averted your eyes upon noticing you yourself were watched. Dark eyes were fixed on you and your peripheral could make out the knowing smirk that grazed Sam’s face. Glancing around the gardening store once more, trying to maintain a fond of indifference after being caught ogling at his friend, you saw Sam turn back to his task but the smirk on his lips didn’t leave his face.

You took in the store a little more, looking out the forefront and imagining seeing little you walking by on your way home from school with your little backpack on, the zipper broken because it was always a little too packed. Sunlight filtered through, casting a warm glow over the interior and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Wooden floorboards creaked under heavy boots.

You found appeal in the idea of helping out here yourself. It was a cozy place and you were in need of a job.

After your nightmare yesterday and the heartfelt conversation with Wanda, you had found a small sense of solace again. You both went to Pietro to check up on him and spent the day. When you also confided in him about your troubled past, Wanda and you had to ease him out of buying a ticket to Seattle to ‘show him how he deserves to be treated’. You had spent the whole day with them, filled with take-out and movies, bringing back that comfort you had missed for so long.

Nonetheless, Wanda had to return to her job today. After all, she had completed her graphic design degree and was working from home, designing a new logo for a local startup company. Not wanting to disrupt her creative flow, you had decided to take a leisurely walk around town earlier in the hope it would clear your mind and perhaps explore potential job opportunities in the area.

However, as you strolled through the familiar streets, you found yourself in front of your parent's house - well, which wasn’t their house anymore as it seemed.

Perhaps you might have even fled out of your new shared apartment with Wanda earlier. Watching her immersed in her graphic design work only served to amplify the ache in your heart. The urgency to secure a job as quickly as possible might stem from the deep-seated longing and regret that consumed you. You could have been in the same position as Wanda, pursuing a degree in graphic design and building a career from it.

You might not have been as talented or passionate as Wanda was and probably not as happy, but you also weren’t happy in the place you found yourself in right now - essentially losing three years of your life, along with the love of your parents and the sense of identity you once possessed could do that to a person.

“Do I need to get you some water as well, son? Work isn’t finished yet.”

Once again, Mr. Clark's voice jolted you back to the present, snapping you away from the tangle of thoughts that had consumed you. You turned your head, watching Bucky getting pulled out of wherever his own mind had drifted, grumbling a quick response to the elderly man and hastily making his way back towards the entrance to fiddle with a few gardening tools.

Sam wore that knowing smirk again, as he continued with his own task. It was clear that he had noticed Bucky’s momentary lapse in focus and was likely already formulating a teasing remark to poke fun at him later on. Well, that was how you imagined their kind of relationship to be.

You were intrigued to find out what might have caught Bucky’s attention that left him almost bashful after being caught.

Mr. Clark walked by you and you stood from the chair, taking the chance to talk to him. “I could help you out as well, Mr. Clark-” you started but got boldly interrupted again.

“I’ve got the boys already, child. They’re more than enough to keep an old man busy. No need for any more fuss,” he declared, dismissing your offer and taking the glass out of your hand to refill it again despite your protests, handing it back to you. “Don’t you have more pressing matters to attend to? A better job?”

You shook your head, your fingers tightened their hold on the glass. “Uhm. No, I’m still looking for one.”

“You’re looking for a job?”

Sam's voice behind you made you turn around to see him standing up and dusting off his jeans, his gaze on you.

“Sam,” Bucky warned sharply from his place, turning to him as well after adjusting a wheelbarrow, his movements stiff.

Sam seemed used to ignoring Bucky, his grin just widening and undeterred by the way Bucky’s hard glare burned holes in his side.

“We could use some help in the bar,” he continued, his voice casual but he still wore that ever-present smirk. The kind that made you think he knew something you didn’t.

Surprise etched your features and the tension that crackled in the air as you exchanged glances between Sam and Bucky left you a little unsettled. Bucky wasn’t meeting your eyes, his shoulders tense and his arms were held at his side awkwardly, fingers twitching.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t deny it was alluring - Sam’s suggestion. It would certainly be more exciting working in their bar than a gardening store, managed by a moody old man. The prospect of immersing yourself in the vibrant energy of a bustling bar scene appealed to the sense of distraction you could definitely use right now, in your current situation. And the bar surely held some sense of charm.

Bucky’s reaction though left you a little uneasy. Sure, it was a demanding job and not always that easy or even safe. Rowdy patrons, bar fights, and unwelcome advances from strangers were something you had to expect to happen in a bar, but you had experience, having worked in a bar in Seattle before Michael had put an end to it. He wouldn’t get a chance this time.

Perhaps Bucky didn’t believe you were capable of handling yourself in a bar environment. Yes, you had flinched this morning by the mundane sound of the kettle clicking off but did you actually look that helpless? A pang of indignation elicited in your stomach at the notion that Bucky might have already formed a judgment about your abilities grated against you. After all, you had navigated heated situations before with finesse - admittedly, you were lacking that kind of confidence now that you still had back then but you couldn’t help the small flicker of anger simmering inside you.

Your assumptions about Bucky’s reactions could possibly be off base, you had to acknowledge. You had been wrong about these guys before, forming your own judgments based on your imagined version of bikers so you considered the possibility that his apprehension had little to do with you, but rather himself. Whatever was going on inside his mind. He did seem like an overthinker if you were being honest.

But regardless of the reasons for his reaction, there was one thing you hadn’t lost; the stubborn sense to prove yourself.

Sam seemed to have read your answer in your expression, because his grin widened and he pulled out a gardening chair, sitting down and gesturing for you to take a seat on the one you had occupied before.

“We’re having a job interview,” he declared after you blinked at him in confusion, making it seem like it wasn’t utterly surreal to do this in the midst of a gardening store.

“Here? Now?”

A deep frustrated sigh caught your attention and you observed Bucky running a hand over his face in exasperation, mirroring his earlier actions outside the store. With another unsure glance at Sam, you hesitantly took a seat in front of him.

“Sam, don’t do this,” Bucky sighed, clearly done with him but Sam just pressed on with his agenda - leaning forward in his seat and fixing you with a feigned serious expression.

He started asking you about your full name and age, saving it in his phone. It was actually impressive how Sam managed to ignore the sharp glares of Bucky, while they made you shift on your rickety chair uncomfortably, although they weren’t even meant for you.

The relationship between those two remained a mystery to you. They were like opposing forces, caught in an eternal tug-of-war - Their banter full of irritation and teasing. You got a glimpse of their bickering at the bar and it seemed to be a normal occurrence. But then you noticed the subtle glances from Sam, as to check on Bucky and the almost fond clap on his shoulder after entering the store - they were breadcrumbs leading to a hidden story.

Eventually, Bucky redirected his attention back to the few gardening tools scattered in a corner - trowels, rakes, and a rusted watering can and started rearranging them. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

You offered Sam a court sketch of your past - the brief experience of college life that you abandoned to see the world beyond your little town. You left unsaid how your departure fractured the relationship with your parents, how their silence became a chasm. You skirted around their disappointment, the unspoken ache that wrapped around you like a well-worn scarf. The plans they had woven for you - the threads of stability, the safety net of expectations - and you had shredded them like old love letters. There was no need to delve into the guilt, the jagged edges of remorse.

To your surprise, Sam’s expression remained unclouded by judgment. His features were soft, understanding etched into the lines around his eyes and you felt yourself relax into the chair. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the falter in Bucky's movements and the way his body stilled at one point of your recap, curious eyes flickering toward you. You kept your gaze on Sam.

“Where’d you go?”

Sam's inquiry hung over you, a weight pressing down on your chest. Your throat tightened and you cleared your throat before forcing yourself to respond, the word escaping in a curt tone.

“Seattle.”

Sam eased back into his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Impressive move,” he remarked with a smile and a slight nod of his head, “I’ve never been to Seattle, but it’s got that buzz for sure.” His words held a quiet enthusiasm, a stark contrast to your own muted tone. You longed to see the city through Sam’s eyes, to rediscover its vibrancy beyond the shadows that clung to your past there.

“Why did you come back?”

You should have expected Sam to ask that but your breath hitched nonetheless, the room seemingly closing in on you. Your mouth opened but nothing came out. Fingers fidgeted with the fabric of your jacket in your lap and your palms started getting clammy. Feigning indifference, you hesitated, as if carefully selecting your words.

“Uhm,” was all you managed, silence stretching like an eternity, though it was likely mere seconds only.

“You don’t have to answer that!”

Bucky’s voice cut through the air and your head snapped toward him, a touch startled. For a moment, you even forgot he was there, the clattering of the gardening tools had ceased probably a while ago already and he stood there standing in your direction. His gaze locked with yours, sincerity emanating from his blue eyes and something that looked a lot like a heavy understanding.

“Now stop this Sam, this is ridiculous.” Bucky’s gaze hardened again as it swung back to Sam. Said man rolled his eyes in a comical display of exasperation, arms flailing in the air.

“Can’t have fun with this guy,” he quipped, voice dripping with mock seriousness. Bucky exhaled a heavy breath as he returned to his work, the lines of his jaw etching in frustration.

Sam's attention shifted back to you, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. “Alright, well,” he declared, “Welcome to the team! The job is yours.”

“You can’t decide that,” Bucky stated flatly, his back still turned to you.

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Sure can, man,” he countered, rising from his chair.

You observed them both quietly from your chair, grateful that the attention had shifted from you. You took a deep breath, savoring the momentary respite. However, the creak of the backroom door reminded you of the presence of Mr. Clark, who reappeared, his hooded eyes sweeping over you three.

“Is this a clandestine gathering, children?” he rasped, pointing his stick at each of you in turn. “Your work is done here, sons. Now get out of here, will you?”

Sam grinned and gave Bucky a clap on the back as he walked passed him to the entrance. “Until next week then, Mr. Clark,” he threw over his shoulder.

Bucky shot you a brief look and followed Sam with a nod to the old man.

“It was nice to see you again Mr. Clark,” you said before making your way to the entrance as well. Bucky held the door open for you and you thanked him as you stepped into the daylight.

“Need a ride home?” Bucky’s voice was gruff, yet gentler than you had heard before. Sam perked up at his question, surprise dancing across his features that quickly morphed into an amused smirk.

“That’s really nice, thank you,” you replied, your smile genuine. “But I’m not far, really.”

Bucky nodded, a fleeting smile curving his lips. “Alright well, get home safe then.” He swung his leg over his black bike - the one with the damaged front you noticed.

“Well Y/n, I guess we’ll be seeing you soon,” Sam remarked, throwing you a wink as he got on his own bike.

You exchanged quick goodbyes and soon enough the rumble of their bikes faded into the distance, leaving behind a lingering echo.

You chose the longer route home, deliberately avoiding the street that led past your parents' former house. The sun dipped lower secondly, casting elongated shadows on the pavement. The pebble you kicked along the sidewalk became your silent companion, its journey mirroring your own - a solitary wanderer seeking solace.

The irony of your situation didn’t escape you. A few days ago, the notion of accepting a job at a biker bar would have been laughable for you. But as you had learned, life had a way of upending expectations, revealing the hidden layers beneath the surface.

And as yesterday, Bucky etched his way into your thoughts. He was still an enigma to you. His gruff exterior, a fortress of stoicism, belied the intricate layers beneath. You got a glimpse of it again today. A softness that defied the world-worn facade. Determination stirred within you, urging you to unravel the mystery that surrounded him.

Since you would work in their bar now you were aware you’d see him more often and it filled you with a fluttering sensation - both thrilling and treacherous. You knew the risks, the precipice upon which you stood, but curiosity tugged at your sleeve.

He wasn’t easy to read, this biker with eyes like storm clouds. You wondered if you would ever learn to see behind the broodiness, the armor he wore like a second skin.

Perhaps you would find the key to unlock the enigma - the heart that beat beneath the leather.

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about”

- Jonny Ox

Tag list:

@heletsmelovehim @moonlightreader649

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

[rainba]

I'll Take You To The Stars

✰ TWs/Tags: dark content, violence, dubcon turned con

✰ Aether x GN! Reader ✰ Word count: 11.3k

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The night sky was breathtaking. Every time Aether journeyed through Teyvat, he would often find himself stopping and staring up above. The endless sea of stars, the lone shining moon, the constellations that gather together to create a symphony of hidden meanings just waiting to be uncovered… They weren’t like the stars of his homeland, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

His golden eyes are locked onto the dark sky as his mind wanders off into nowhere. He reminisced old memories with his sister, those bygone days bringing him to tears. He searches for her both day and night, but every new direction keeps leading to dead ends. Every day has become a cycle of getting used, betrayed, overworked– and his body constantly aches. Fresh scars and bruises paint his skin all over– but despite it all, he still smiles so warmly.

Of course he’s made tons of good memories too, but they sometimes pale in comparison to the horrors he has witnessed. He thinks about the abyss. He remembers the defiled statue. The terrifying shadows hidden deep beneath the shakey surface… He curls up into himself and clutches at his knees. He just wants to erase it all from his memories. Forget about it all for just one day...

He so badly yearns to just take his sister by her hand and run away.

But… It’s impossible.

All he can do is force himself to keep going. 

He thinks, and he thinks, then he overthinks some more. He tries to cheer himself up and distract himself with the more positive things in life. What are his favorite things about this world? What drives him to keep fixing Teyvat and playing the role of a hero? He searches within himself to find an answer, and in the end, he thinks he’s got one:

…You.

When your image flashes across his mind, his heart skips a beat.

Yes… He’s doing all of this for you, too.

Aether thinks back on the days where Teyvat was still brand new to him. Everything seemed so bright and colorful, so vibrant and innocent. He recalled seeing Dvalin for the first time, seeing Venti and his magic, encountering Amber, then promptly helping the knights of Favonious too. Thinking about it all now made him sickly nostalgic. Compared to the present, those days seemed so simple and easy to understand.

Every time he thinks of Mondstadt, he inevitably thinks about you too. Your bright eyes, your unique style, the sound of your voice, your lips… His face starts to grow red as your image crosses his mind. Perhaps you’re the perfect distraction– one of the only things his heart needs to keep Teyvat’s darkness at bay. Aether starts thinking about how the two of you first met…

It was so long ago when you first asked for his help. He was a fresh face in the adventurers guild at the time, so he opted to take one or two of the lower ranking commissions. There was only one thing you had wanted: someone strong to escort you to Starsnatch cliff at night.

“Um… Hello,”  your voice was as soft as feathers, as quiet as the gentle winds, and only those who paid close attention could hear it. You looked so terrified with the way you had been trembling. “Hello (Y/N)! We’ll be the ones to help you today!” Paimon was her usual friendly and cheery self, and that fact alone calmed your nerves. At the time, Aether opted to keep silent like usual.

He remembers watching you from a distance as you and Paimon chatted away. Well-- chatted is the wrong word. It was more-so Paimon talking your ear off as you nodded and listened to her every word. 

That day had been oddly special.

The journey there had been short and sweet, the timing perfectly planned. When the three of you reached the very peak of the cliff, the moon was standing high in the sky, perfect in its soothing radiance.

When Paimon asked you why you posted your commission, your face practically glowed with joy. “Well, this is going to sound really silly, but…” While stepping closer to the edge of the Starsnatch cliff, you pointed your hand up at the night sky. “I’ve always wanted to see the stars up close! And, um, I figured this cliff would be the closest I can get to them. Is that really weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?” Your words were followed up with prolonged silence, the three of you exchanging glances.

After that, both he and Paimon had laughed- but in a sweet and teasing way, not out of malice. Your face got so red as you demanded they stopped laughing, but eventually, you joined them as well.

“Of course it’s not weird, you silly billy!” 

As the tender memories graced Aether’s mind, he found himself dreamily smiling. 

After that commission had been finished, you kept in contact with him and Paimon. Your encounters with them were far and few between, but they were always such a treat. As a thank-you gift to Aether, you had crafted him a beautiful crown of Cecilia flowers. The first time he saw it, he was a little stunned.

“I hope you like it..! I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

When you walked over to his side and placed it gently on his golden hair, he blushed a little. The way you clapped your hands together and smiled made his heart race. “There you go..! You look amazing with it!”

When Paimon had asked where her flower crown was, you excitedly pulled out a second one from behind your back. “Of course I wouldn’t forget about you, Paimon! Here you go.” You had tried to make it as small as possible, but it was still just a little too big for Paimon’s head. However, it did work as an adorable necklace. Paimon had been kicking her feet and giggling as she admired the beautiful flowers around her neck, all while Aether admired your smile…

…

Aether wanted to see you again…

Perhaps seeing your smile would make his current stress melt away.

His gloved hands reached over for one of his backpacks and dug inside, rummaging for a certain object. Once his fingers graced it, he slowly dragged it out.

In a small baggie, he kept that flower crown you made for him.

The edges of each petal were brown and curled inward, showing obvious signs of heavy decay. It didn’t matter how much they rotted away, however, as he would never dare to throw it out. Aether held it close to his chest as he imagined just how happy you would be to see him again.

How long has it been..?

Weeks? Months? An entire year?

Time was a hard thing to keep track of.

He still remembers your final words to him: “I hope you and Paimon do amazing things out there, Aether! I know you will…” His face had flushed red when you took his hands in yours, and he remembers how much he wished you wouldn’t notice his moment of weakness. “And… Please, help Teyvat… I think this world truly needs someone special like you. A hero of light to vanquish the darkness!”

Your eyes sparkled as they looked into his own. “But also, please don’t forget about me, okay?”

He made so many promises to you that day… And he intended to keep them all.

Aether got so lost in the depths of his thoughts that he failed to notice Paimon calling his name. “Aetheeeer, Aeeeether! Yoohoo!” She waved her tiny hands in front of his face. “Hey, are you ignoring Paimon on purpose!?” He jumped whenever she reached out and began to pinch his cheeks.

“H-hey, quit it!” Aether lightly swatted Paimon away as he quickly stashed away the remnants of your decaying gift. “You were so lost in thoughts just now that you totally ignored Paimon! What were you thinking about, anyway?” She buzzed around his shoulders and placed herself beside them, her gaze shifting between him and the nearby backpack.

Aether debated his answer, wondering if he should just say ‘nothing.’ But then he figured he might as well take advantage of the question. “I was just thinking about Mondstadt.” 

Paimon’s eyes widened.

“Ooh, Mondstadt? We haven’t been there in a while! Paimon wonders how everyone’s doing.” She smiled brightly and flew around a little more, stopping only a feet away from his face. “Are you thinking about dropping by for a little visit?”

Aether pretended to think about it for a moment, but he already had his answer. “Mm, yeah, I think we should… It’d be really nice to talk to everyone again.” The thought of seeing you made his body and mind finally relax. “After we visit Mondstadt we’ll head straight for Fontaine.” 

At that notion, Paimon cheered with glee, swirling around excitedly. “Yay, this is such a good idea! Ohh, Paimon can’t wait to stop by Good Hunter again! Hehehe, sticky honey roast..! Paimon can already taste it now!” Everything worked out perfectly.

“Okay okay, now you should go sleep while Paimon keeps watch! Those bags under your eyes are crazy!” Paimon laughed innocently as she pointed directly at them, and Aether couldn’t help but playfully sigh. “Alright, alright… Thank you, Paimon.”

“Hehe, no problem… Paimon is always happy to help. Nighty night, Aether!”

…Then that was that.

Soon you’d be in his presence again, just a mere few feet away. 

He’d get the chance to enjoy your company, hear your laughter, stare into your captivating eyes…

How nice it would be to hear you say his name again…

He’s gotten a kamera since he last saw you too, so that means he'd get to capture countless photos of you. He’ll be able to take them everywhere he goes. His thoughts, his fantasies, they raced through his mind as he closed his eyes and drifted away into a deep sleep...

The journey in the morning went smoothly as usual.

The duo started out with a nice warm breakfast before packing their bags, putting out their campfire in a proper manner, then setting off on their travels. Going from Sumeru to Mondstadt was much more relaxing than Aether expected it to be. They encountered a few familiar faces on the way, and they even received a couple gifts. With each passing day, Aether grew more and more anxious.

When he thought of you, his feet would instinctively move faster. Paimon would ask him to slow down, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted to see you so bad.

He didn’t fully understand why he felt this strongly, but he also didn’t care to question it much.

When Aether and Paimon reached the front gates of the city, residents ran to his side with ecstatic grins and happy cheers. “The honorary knight is back!” They began to surround him, the crowd growing larger with each passing second.

“What was it like being in Inazuma? Is it true you fought the electro archon!?”

“Are you going to be here for a while? Please say you are!”

Aether’s eyes scanned the small crowd forming around him, searching for the person he longed to see the most.

But he still couldn't find you.

He could put on a smile for everyone for as long as he needs to, but he won’t genuinely do so until he sees your face.

Aether walks around and wanders the city while Paimon does all the talking. He grows more restless with each passing second. Where are you? You didn’t leave Mondstadt, did you? No, you couldn’t have. It’s impossible. You would never in a million years leave Mondstadt! 

Beads of sweat began to form on his face. His hands trembled.

Why was he freaking out so much?

“Err, are you okay?” Paimon flew in front of Aether, stopping him in his tracks. “You don’t look so good.” The traveler froze up, blinking slowly, his jaw agape. “U-um,” he tried to come up with an excuse for his slightly odd behavior. “I’m fine, just… Tired after our long journey.” He nervously scratched the back of his head, but it was obvious that Paimon wasn’t buying it.

“Uh-huuuh,” she replied, smiling a little. “Are you sure it’s not anything else? Paimon wants to help you as best she can!” She brought herself a little closer to him in a cutesy attempt to push for answers, but got interrupted by a voice in the distance.

They both recognized that voice.

“Aether, Paimon- Is that you?”

It was your voice.

“Ooh, yay! Look, it’s (Y/n)!” Aether snapped his head to the side- and to both his joy and relief, you were right there. The sun up above was beaming down on your form, illuminating your entire figure. If you weren’t standing right in front of him, he would swear that you were a figment of his imagination. 

You’re simply too perfect to exist.

Perhaps you’re an angel sent down from heaven- is that it?

It has to be it… His heart was beating so fast.

Aether stood frozen as he stared at you in awe. “I’m so happy to see you both!” You beamed a huge smile at them, and it made Aether’s heart skip a beat. “Awww, Paimon is happy to see you too! And so is Aether! Isn’t that right?” Paimon nudged at his shoulder, pushing him out of his dream-like trance. “U-um, yeah..!” His voice comes out so soft and shy that it makes you giggle.

Aether can face literal gods in the heat of battle without batting an eye, but for some reason, his knees begin to buckle the moment he has to face his own feelings.

“Well– I’m glad that you two haven’t forgotten about me!” You laugh cheerily, but Paimon gasps. “Whaaat, how could we ever forget about you!? We would never!” To that sentiment, Aether whole-heartedly agrees.

  “That’s sweet of you to say… If I had known you two would be stopping by, I would have prepared gifts!” You and Paimon continue chatting away while Aether simply stares at you like a puppy in love. He wants to talk to you, he so deeply wishes to tell you just how much he missed you, but his mind is completely blank. Who knew that you had the power to make him instantly forget how to speak?

“-Aether?” The traveler hadn’t noticed that you and Paimon were asking him a question. “Hm? Did you ask me something?”

Archons, he needed to pull himself together before he really embarrasses himself.

“Since I don’t have anything to give you, would you wanna come over for dinner? You don’t have to if you’re busy! I completely understand.” You reach your hand out to his, but he only stares at it. You’re asking him to come over to your house..? Right now..?

“Oh, we’re not busy at all! Not at the moment, anyway.” Paimon grabbed one of your fingers with her tiny hands and tried to shake it in Aether’s place. “We’d never pass up the opportunity for free good food!” 

While you truly thought Paimon's enthusiasm was cute, you were more focused on Aether’s approval. You didn’t know why, but today he just seemed so much more… Unreadable. You almost wondered how many horrible things he’s seen since you last spoke with him.

So, just for tonight, you wanted him to forget it all.

Put aside his heroic act and simply relax with good company for one night.

Your eyes moved over to the traveler, asking for his genuine approval, to which he answered with a nod. He collected his thoughts and brought himself somewhat back to normalcy, smirking a little. “Yeah, Paimon would never pass up that opportunity.”

“Hey, It’s not just Paimon!” As she stomped her tiny foot in the air with playful rage, you began to laugh, and it made Aether’s heart melt all over again.

He jokingly wondered if you were casting some sort of hidden, otherworldly spell on him.

“Come on you two, let’s get going… I know you must be hungry right now.”  Before Paimon could even reply, Aether gave her a teasing and knowing look. She already knew he’d say something along the lines of, ‘yeah, you’re right. Afterall, Paimon is always hungry.’ So she huffed at Aether and dropped her words while sticking extremely close to your side.

The journey to your home was slow and peaceful.

You had asked them about their most recent adventures, and Paimon was happy to oblige in sharing silly stories. Obviously, they omitted the more horrific and touchy things they had witnessed.

Enjoying traditional festivals, fighting epic battles, meeting a few archons, experiencing the wonders of Teyvat’s many different cultures, breaking people out of prison- there was just so much to talk about. If these stories hadn’t been coming from Paimon and the world-renowned traveler, you would have thought that someone was just reciting a thriller novel of some kind.

“And through it all, of course, Paimon was his number one helper! He couldn’t have done it all by himself! Hehe, isn’t that right, Aether?” Paimon excitedly turned around and stared at Aether as they walked, her eyes sparkling with pride. Aether already knew what he had to say.

“Oh, absolutely Paimon. I could never have done it without you.” At the sound of those words, Paimon squealed with joy. “Hehehe, see! Paimon is a great helper! Although, there wasn’t much Paimon could do when he fought the shogun and um-… Well, she was super scary!”

The shogun? As in the Raiden Shogun?

You thought that rumor was just that: a rumor.

Your eyes widened. “Really..?! You went head-to-head with the electro archon? That’s amazing!” At the sound of your praise, Aether’s heart skipped not one, but two beats. Surely he can cut out on being humble for a moment and just brag a little bit, right? He proudly rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head upwards. “Sure did. In the end, I managed to beat her with the people of Inazuma and their dreams by my side.” A little smirk found its way onto his face, and Paimon playfully rolled her eyes at his boasting.

“Wow,” you replied breathlessly. “I wish I could be even half as strong as you, Aether… Really! That’s so..!” Aether immediately cut back a little bit on his bragging, opting to comfort you instead. So he made a proposal.

“Well... How about I teach you how to use a sword?” 

As soon as the offer dropped, your eyes lit up.

“R-really? You’d be willing to teach me? You know I don’t have a vision… I’m not anything special, really.”

Not anything special..? Your words couldn’t be further from the truth, he thinks.

And of course Aether is willing to instruct you. If he could show you how to use a sword, he’d have an excuse to keep you by his side for a little longer.

He’d be able to stand behind your back and hold your waist within his hands. He could show you how to place your feet, all while keeping his body close to yours, and…

Small fantasies flashed before his eyes as you waited for his answer.

“Of course I can teach you- I wouldn’t mind at all. You don’t have to have a vision to be special, you know. You’re amazing just as you are.” That last line definitely came out a little flirtier than he wanted it to, but your reaction was worth it. Your cheeks flushed red as you instinctively hid it behind your hands. “O-oh, Aether, stop teasing me!”

Aether’s heart begins to flutter out of control as your hand playfully pushes his shoulder. Archons forbid… How could anyone be so enchanting like you?

Why were you so cute?

You could be a poison and he’d happily drink you down, smiling as his body deteriorates...

You were one of the first people in Teyvat to ever take him in and treat him so tenderly.

You were close to him before he ever became famous across the entire continent of Teyvat. When he was simply just an ‘outlander’ looking for his sister, you were there by his side, eagerly helping him put up missing posters.

Perhaps you were a stable foundation that he longed to protect- a person he could always return to without having a single worry in the world.

Were you his safety in a land that seemed so hellbent on destroying him?

He only wishes that you feel as strongly for him as he does you. Do you spend your nights staring out your window, longing for his company? Does he always find his way into your dreams, like you do in his?

These scenarios dance through Aether’s mind, warming his heart.

Aether follows close behind you and Paimon until, eventually, you all reach your destination. Your house isn’t the fanciest, but it suits your style. There’s a little welcome mat right outside the front door, and Aether finds it adorable. You reach deep into your pockets, pull out a ring of keys, then push the front door open. “Step on in!” 

When everyone walks inside, he finds himself admiring the decor all around. You’ve gotten a lot of new things- that much is obvious. New vases, new carpets, new stuffed animals strewn about. His eyes scan around the place until they eventually land on a photograph.

But it’s… Strange. It’s a very nice picture of you, but there’s someone else by your side.

Is… Is that..?

From behind him, he hears the door close. Then your voice rings out.

“Honey, I’m home! I’ve also brought some guests!”

…

What..?

His body becomes paralyzed with shock.

Aether slowly begins to tremble with fury as he begrudgingly watches another man walk out from another room.

It’s a tall man with jet black hair and deep blue eyes; there’s a wide smile plastered on his long face. And in his hands, he’s holding a frying pan. Aether is forced to take everything in.

This man- this fucking man… 

Why is he standing in your house? 

Why is that man wearing an apron with your name embroidered on it? Why does he look so fucking happy? And most importantly: why did you just call him ‘Honey’? Millions of questions flashed through his mind in a single second, overwhelming all of his senses. Aether slowly grit his teeth and tightened his fist as a deep, silent rage started to boil from within.

But nobody else notices this.

“Oh, wow- Unexpected guests! You’re all here just in time! I finished making dinner not too long ago- and I’ve made plenty of extra!” That stupid fucking man is grinning as he waves at everyone, but only you and Paimon wave back. He looks friendly- too friendly. Is he hiding something? He must be hiding something. He’s gotta be an asshole of some kind deep down- he absolutely has to be up to something. Aether tears away at the man’s character before he even gets the chance to reveal his name.

The dining room table is clean and freshly decorated with a wide arrangement of food laid out. Paimon cheers with excitement, but Aether doesn’t say a word. His golden eyes scan everything, searching for the tiniest of details to scrutinize. His heart throbs a little when his eyes land on a vase full of Cecilia flowers.

“Oh, Aether– I’ve been so excited for you to meet Jay!” You lightly tap on Aether’s shoulder as you point over to the other man. Jay?

Jay?

The name brands itself into the front of Aether’s mind, scorching him, torturing him.

 “If it weren’t for you, I would have never met him.” Jay then waves at Aether and extends his hand, but all Aether does is just stare at it with thinly-veiled disgust. Your words begin to echo in the darkening confines of his mind: if it weren’t for him, you would’ve never met Jay?

What do you mean by that? In what way?

When the man realizes Aether won’t shake his hand, he coughs and awkwardly retracts it. “It’s, uh, nice to finally meet you, o’ mighty traveler! I’ve heard so many things about you… Haha, my darling here never stops talking about you.”

Those words bring a dangerous flood of hope into Aether’s heart, but it all quickly shatters and dissolves when Jay walks around the table, kissing you before his very eyes.

Electro instantly crackles between Aether’s fingers as he grows tempted to attack him on the spot.

“Aww, I do not talk about him that much..! Y-you’re embarrassing me!” You kiss your partner on his nose before playfully slapping his cheek- then the two of you start to laugh so carefree. 

How… Aether wonders.

How can the two of you just laugh and kiss while he’s standing right there? 

Have you even considered how he feels..?!

Why do you look so happy with this other man..? Aether’s thoughts twist, scramble, and shake out of control.

These feelings of jealousy are unlike anything he's ever felt before.

Paimon stares over at Aether, deeply concerned as she sees the glow of purple in his hands. She doesn’t understand what’s going on beneath the surface. She wants to ask him if he’s okay, but she decides against it, fearing that she’d be poking at something sensitive. “Uhh… C’mon, let’s eat! Paimon is starving and this food looks soooo good!”

In that sentiment, everybody agrees.

Everyone quickly gathers around the table and takes their seats. Paimon decides to sit across from you, meanwhile Aether sits across from Jay. There’s tons of options that Jay prepared: grilled fish skewers, mint salads, moon pie, radish veggie soup, and even a little bit of wine. It's... An ungodly amount of food. The table is silent for a while as everyone gorges on it all- however, Aether can’t help but conjure up fake contests in his mind as he pokes at the meal on his plate.

He thinks about how much of a better cook he is than Jay.

Aether could make you better food than this… Much better food.

After a while, Paimon decides to pipe up and cut through the silence. “Soooo, Jay, (Y/n)! How did you two meet? Paimon is dying to know!” She happily points towards you both, the two of you smiling in unison. Aether notices the way you suddenly grow shy and blush out of control. He can’t help but think that only he should be making you react that way. 

Jay gushes over how you two met- going deep into the details- rambling on and on about just how perfect you are. 

All Aether wants to do is shut him up.

“It’s really like I said earlier… If it wasn’t for Aether, I would have never met him.” This sentence instantly catches Aether’s attention, so he listens closely. “Ever since you two brought me to Starsnatch cliff, I’ve faced my fears and started going out on my own! Aether’s bravery… It inspired me to be brave, too.” You grab your full glass of wine and stare at your own reflection, smiling sweetly.

“I kept going there alone until- eventually- I ran into Jay. He was standing there so quietly, gazing up at the stars...” You chuckled lightly. “He just looked so lonely, I had to talk to him! Poor thing.” You poked at him with a smirk on your face, making Jay the flustered one. “Hey! N-not now, love! Don’t tease me in front of our guests...” 

Ugh… 

This sight was making Aether gag.

Everything about this was making him sick to his stomach.

“Awww, you two are so cute together! Paimon’s really happy you found each other! Aether’s also really happy for you both, too! Isn’t that right?” She glanced over at Aether with an innocent grin on her face, pointing at him, and now everyone was staring in his direction. He gulped, swallowing down all the bitter insults he so badly wished to spit out.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled. “And it’s amazing that you’ve gotten braver, (Y/n)... I knew you had it in you.” The corners of his lips trembled upwards as he forced himself to seem happy. He avoided saying he was glad for you two- opting to compliment your courage instead. It truly took all of his strength not to grimace.

 “Aww, you’re too sweet… Like usual, hehe.” You turned away with a sweet lace of shyness in your eyes, and Aether couldn’t help but latch on to it. He wanted to make you swoon for him more, just like that… He ached to shower you with compliments until you completely forget that Jay ever existed in your life... But he knew he had to bite his tongue.

Dinner went on and on, each minute dragging like nails on a chalkboard. 

Aether just wanted this meal to be over with. He yearned so badly to step aside and find a moment with you all alone. After what felt like the longest hour of his entire life, everyone finished their food. Paimon was patting her stomach and groaning happily about just how full she was, graciously thanking Jay. “Ahh, Paimon hasn’t eaten that good in forever! Hehe, Jay might just be a better cook than you, Aether! Ohh… Paimon demands a cook off!” She was obviously joking, making Aether roll his eyes.

Except Jay decided to play with the idea a little.

“So you’re a chef too, huh?” His deep blue eyes widened. “I’ve been actually really desperate for cooking advice lately… Could you step into the kitchen and help me for a second?”

Step into the kitchen..? Alone with Jay?

Aether looked back and forth between you and Paimon before raising himself from his seat. Obviously, just like usual, he can’t bring himself to say no to someone’s request. Whatever it is that this man wants, he just hopes it won’t last long.

The two men separate themselves from you and Paimon; the kitchen becomes awkwardly silent. Nervously, Jay adjusts the apron around his waist and finally takes it off while sighing. “Can I ask you something?” He says, anxiety painted all over his face. Aether wants to say no, but his mouth instinctively answers yes.

“Whew, well... It’s about (Y/n)- And, um, I figured I should ask you of all people about this, since I know you two are kind of close.” Jay bashfully rubs the back of his head and averts his gaze. Aether’s glad to hear that you and him can be considered close, but with the way things are going, that label is nothing more than platonic.

“I…” Jay gulps. “I w-want to propose to them, but… But I don’t know how!” His voice is barely above a whisper as the words reach Aether’s ears. It stabs like a sword; twisting, turning, and tearing away at Aether’s trembling body. He wants to propose to you?

No, absolutely not. 

Never. He can’t.

Aether won’t let him.

“Oh, really..?” Aether conjures up a storm of excuses. “Are you sure you want to do that?” He keeps his voice calm and steady, giving off the false impression that he’s being rational. Jay eagerly nods in response. “O-of course I do! I love them more than anything in this world.” He covers his mouth with one hand as hearts basically fill his eyes. “I want them to be mine, forever and ever… I love them more than anything.” He turns away from Aether, his eyes landing on a framed photograph with your smiling face in it. “They’re too special to let go of.”

To that sentiment, Aether can agree.

You are too special to let go of.

“I see,” he replies. He knows now there’s no way he can talk Jay out of his decision. He can see it in the other man’s eyes- that strong, passionate yearning. He’s seen it in the eyes of couples all across Teyvat: those flames that burn absurdly hot with desire. 

So instead, he begins to scheme.

“I’ll help you then,” Aether says while forcing yet another accepting expression. “How about we go to Starsnatch cliff tonight? Just the two of us. I can help you plan there.” 

Jay fails to notice the light fading away in Aether’s eyes. The darkness of his aura that begins to crawl out from within… The cold, calculating edge to his words. To Jay, Aether is just the traveler who loves helping people all around the world. The shining ray of hope that you admire so much.

Jay is so eager for Aether’s help that he immediately jumps up and grabs him by the hand. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much! L-let’s get going right now! I… I don’t want to waste any time!” He ends up yanking and dragging Aether from out of the kitchen, absolutely thrilled.

You and Paimon perk up and stare at them as they run past you both. “Hey- where are you two going..?” You ask softly, to which Jay joyfully responds. “We’ll be back soon, love! He and I are gonna go out on a little, um… Go out on a trip! Yeah, a short trip is all! See ya’!” He rushes over to kiss you on your forehead before leaving shortly after. His smile, his kiss, the small wave of his little hand…

Those innocent little things…

You didn’t know what would happen soon.

But archons, if only you had known.

The door slams behind the two of them, loudly. Paimon yawns a little bit from beside you, which causes you to chuckle. “Are you ready for bed, Paimon?” She nods quickly before stretching out her arms, and you offer her to stay in the guest room. You guide her there and pat her on the head before tucking her in, wishing her sweet dreams. 

…Then you were all alone.

You decided that it’d be best to stay up and wait for Jay and Aether to come home… After all, Jay has a bad tendency to forget his keys behind, and archons forbid that they get locked out.

And so, to kill the time, you wandered around your cozy little home and reminisced about the past. That day you met Aether and Paimon for the first time… That memory still shined like gold. After all, it was that day that changed your life forever.

You had spent countless days and nights back then thinking about the duo and their fantastical adventures. All the wonderful things they had done, all the spectacular things they continue to do- in all honesty, you were a little jealous. You wish you could’ve seen it all firsthand.

You wished so badly that you could be by Aether’s side. Fighting bad guys, meeting archons, experiencing the beauty of other lands... You wish…

Deep down, you wished that you were with him instead of Jay.

It was a brutal wish, but it was your reality all the same.

You loved Jay with all your heart- truly, you did, but there was still a large spot in your heart that Aether had unknowingly carved his name into. The etches of his name ached from within every time you looked into his golden eyes.

But you knew deep down that Aether could never love someone like you.

Why would he? 

You’re… You’re just some random person he met at the beginning of his journey. You don’t have power, you don’t possess a vision- you’re a nobody.

You’re nothing more… Than a blurry figure standing in the distant background.

Your heart was aching. As you reflected on your dire mess of emotions, you sat down at the dining room table and snatched the Cecilias from their vases, lifting them to your nose. They smelled so sweet, so perfect in every aspect. So with your hands, you got to work at making a flower crown.

Countless more memories flooded your mind as you crafted Aether’s newest gift. There was one night that stuck out particularly in your mind… It feels like so much time has passed since then. It had been storming terribly when you received a knock on your front door.

“Please, open up! Help!”

A tiny shrill voice rang out from beyond the door, and you rushed to open it. “Please, Aether needs your help! He’s been hurt!” Those words alone had nearly sent you into a heart attack. You remember rushing to grab a first-aid kit before dashing outside, hurrying to Aether’s side, not caring about the cold autumn rain. He wasn’t too far away from where you lived, as you stayed on the outskirts of Mondstadt.

You remember the way he was curled up in a ball with blood pooling beneath him. You had screamed out his name and rushed to his side, desperately patching up his gaping wounds.

“Please, keep your eyes open! Whatever you do, ahh… Don’t go into the light!”

You recalled the way your hands trembled so badly as you worriedly wrapped tight bandages around him. You held him close to you, keeping him warm, shielding him from the harsh elements of the outside world. He was heavy and hard to hold, but with a little bit of Paimon’s help, the two of you carried him back to your home.

That night, you stayed put beside his bed without daring to leave him for even a second. You remembered the way the candle lit his face- remembered the gentle rising and falling of his chest. He looked so hurt, yet oddly at peace. You had reached your hand out and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear… And he smiled in his sleep.

You treasure that memory to this very day.

As you finished recalling your memories, you found yourself finishing up the flower crown as well. Just like the first one you made for him, it was perfect, and you admired its unapologetic beauty. All you could now was hope that Aether would like it too.

So you set it aside on the table and prayed that he’d find it when the two got back home. You arose from your chair, stretching your arms and legs, then strolled off into your bedroom. While you had originally planned to stay awake, you decided you were far too tired for all of that. If they really needed to get in, you were sure they’d find a way.

…And in the distance far beyond your house, the two men were still walking up the steep cliff, nearing the very top. Jay was leading in the front with Aether trailing close behind.

“Hahhh… Whew, I’m so exhausted… I’m g-glad we’re almost there!” Jay wiped thick sweat off his brow as he continued to trek upwards. “I can’t believe you haven’t broken a single sweat! B-but then again, I’m sure this is like a walk in the park for you, right? Haha!” Jay looked over his shoulder and laughed happily, joking around. Aether fakely chuckled in return.

“Yeah, this is nothing compared to climbing Liyue’s mountains.” Soon after those words were spoken, they finally made it to the peak of Starsnatch cliff. It truly was a simple yet gorgeous place.

The stars were sparkling especially bright.

A soft string of clouds were drifting through the sky with glowing outlines, accompanied by the shimmering full moon. Jay and Aether stood side by side as they admired the untouchable beauty up above.

Together, they shared a long moment of silence.

On the way up here, he had planned out his next course of action. He thought he could intimidate Jay- isolate him, threaten him, tell him to stay far away from you. If he needed to, he would resort to using just a little bit of physical force.

But for a moment, Aether began to hesitate.

At least he did until Jay made the mistake of opening his mouth once more.

“Do you think, um… Do you think I should propose to them here? This is their favorite place, after all!” The naive man turned to the side and stared down at Aether, pure innocence swimming in his eyes. Aether didn’t respond.

But Jay kept going.

“Actually, this is also where I first confessed my love to them…” His voice was growing delicate, but Aether’s bitterness was only intensifying. “A-and we had our first kiss here, too! They were so happy that night, haha…” Jay continued to ramble on and on, blissfully unaware of the darkness brewing right beside him. Perhaps if he had been paying attention, he would’ve seen the way Aether’s hands trembled.

“W-well, actually… It was here that the two of us, um, well…”

Aether’s eyes slowly widened, and Jay laughed. “The two of us almost uh, you know, did the deed here too- but they were so shy that we just couldn’t go through with it, haha!” 

…

“B-but they said we could once we got married! Maybe that’s why I’m so eager to get engaged, right? Hahaha!” He admitted these thoughts joyously while nudging Aether lightly with his elbow. Jay figured this is merely regular guy talk- just the typical things men share and laugh about.

But Aether wasn’t smiling anymore.

He had long since given up on playing along.

The dead serious look on Aether’s face sent chills up and down Jay’s spine. “Umm… Did… Did I say something wrong? Was that too much information?” Jay simply kept rambling on and on, digging himself deeper into a terrifying hole.

There was nothing in this world he could say now that would take Aether out of his current psychotic, hateful, jealous trance.

Aether just wants one good thing from this fucking earth. Just one. 

All Teyvat ever does is take, take, take.

This world has taken away his precious sister, his powers, his freedom, and now you.

He can’t let it happen– he can’t let this fucked up world take you from him too. He refuses to sit around as another man ruins you with his filthy hands.

His golden eyes stir with rage and go dark. 

All he sees is red.

Dark, crimson red.

“H-huh..? What are you doing!?” Jay yells out in shock as Aether shoots his elbow into his stomach, sending the man tumbling backwards on the incline. He rolls and he rolls until eventually coming into impact with a sharp rock. The back of his head roughly collides with one of its rough edges.

Aether then slowly strides over to his hyperventilating body, standing tall.

The moon illuminates the backside of him, covering his unsettling blank face with shadows.

“So…” Aether reached down and grabbed the man by his arm.

“You think you can just…” He meticulously twisted it in all the wrong directions, pushing and pulling until he could hear the sickening sounds of bones cracking. 

“...Walk into their life and take them from me?” 

The screams of an innocent man savagely pierce through the air.

“W-What? What do you mean!? Please, stop, you’re hurting me..!” Jay cries out even more– but the noises that should be horrifying have started to sound like music to Aether’s ears.

A sadistic, animalistic smirk crawls onto his face as he rearranges the man's bone structure.

Jay continues to relentlessly cry and beg for help, but the cruel world of Teyvat only responds with silence…

This is the taste of sweet, sweet revenge.

Aether won’t let this sick and twisted place run all over him this time.

Not this time.

“(Y/n),” Aether growls. “They belong to me.”  As he utters those words, he snatches the man’s legs and slowly breaks each one in two. What follows is yet another string of pleas, cries, and shrieks. It makes Aether smile.

He breaks out into a dangerous fit of laughter.

The human body is so fragile when compared to the strength of gods, he thinks…

To him, tearing this disgusting man apart is as easy as ripping paper.

But that doesn’t mean Jay will stop fighting.

When Aether’s hands move off his body a moment in time, Jay rolls out from underneath him and slides down the hill. Rolling, rolling, rolling… Until his body collided into a tree with a loud bang. He was coughing so pitifully, his lungs struggling to capture even a single gasp of air.

He needed to escape. He needed to run- or else…

Or else Aether would do his worst.

“P-please, don’t do this! Please!” Jay scrambled to get onto his feet, but he inevitably fell down once more with a cry of pure agony. His bones were in no shape or form to support his own weight. They were obliterated- shattered into hundreds of little pieces. Tears streamed down from his blue eyes.

This can’t be the end…

It… Can’t be…

As Aether stands over top of Jay’s body, his shadow envelops the entirety of his trembling form. There’s no sympathy in his golden eyes- only malice. Only hatred.

Only white hot jealousy.

From behind his back, Aether unsheathes a silver sword, and the moonlight reflects off of its perfect silver edge. From within the blade, Jay can see his own terrified image. It was haunting.

“You… You can’t… You can’t do this!” Jay tries once more to beg for his life, grimly knowing that words are the only things he has left. “(Y/n)... They’ll… They’ll be upset! Please, (Y/n)--”

Aether kicks the squirming man in the face, shattering his teeth.

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth.”

And then…

He lowers his blade into him.

Over and over, hundreds of times- He ruthlessly slices the innocent man into pieces. He screams one word, and one word alone, over and over: die. 

Die, die, die.

Aether dissociates as the pure jealousy and rage flood his veins, dictating his every move. It's as if his vision goes black.

Hot blood seeps into the lush grass below, staining it a scarlet red.

Aether doesn’t relent until long after Jay’s strained cries and gurgling transform into an eerie silence. He doesn’t stop until both his face and body are beyond recognition. Destroyed by Aether’s hands…

Turning him into nothing more than a mangled corpse the world will one day forget about.

Aether’s bitterness with Teyvat, his hatred for being betrayed at every turn, his loathing over being constantly used with hardly anyone ever stopping to ask how he feels- he’s taken it all out on a man he just met.

And now… He’s left with nothing more than the company of silent winds.

Aether stares blankly at the corpse beside his feet, not yet registering the gravity of his actions. His breathing grows heavy and unstable, his body trembling all over. The drawn out tranquil silence serves to slowly bring him back down to earth, and the brutal reality of his situation strikes him like a powerful bolt of lightning.

Aether’s heart stops as he realizes what he’s done.

He’s committed an unspeakable act of sin. 

Archons... There’s blood all over his hands, all over his clothes, all over his skin... The sword in his right hand falls to the ground with an audible thud, the blade still glimmering under the light of the moon. He, just like Jay, catches a glimpse of his reflection in it. Except he doesn’t see it on a backdrop of radiant silver- he sees it in the puddle of a sinister red.

Aether begins to panic as he runs his hands through his hair, unaware of how he was painting his blonde hair crimson. “No, no, no no no…” He hyperventilates and paces back and forth, his pupils violently dilating and shaking. “I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t mean to.”

He reaches his hands out towards Jay’s body and touches his neck, searching for a pulse he knows isn’t there.

And who would’ve guessed… There is none.

Guilty tears pour out of Aether’s eyes as he tries to come to terms with the crime he’s just committed.

He’s not supposed to be the bad guy… He’s supposed to be the hero of Mondstadt. The shining beacon of hope in the land of Teyvat. Your words from days long gone creep up on him, haunting him.

“And… Please, help Teyvat… I think this world truly needs someone special like you. A hero of light to vanquish the darkness!” 

A hero that vanquishes the darkness, that’s what you told him to be, but… After everything he’s gone through, after everything he’s seen and done…

He has instead become part of this world’s darkness.

He didn’t want this- he didn’t want to become a murderer.

All he wanted was you.

Was that so much to ask for?

With only celestia as his witness, Aether carefully lifts up Jay’s mangled body and drops it off the edge of Starsnatch cliff, sending him far away into the depths of the freezing ocean. His final resting ground is forever below your favorite place.

The last person to ever see Jay… Was him… 

And Jay’s final words will forever be your name.

Aether is sickened by himself.

On his journey back to your home, his mind vainly attempts to make excuses for his unspeakable actions. 

“I’ve saved so many people from death, surely taking one life for selfish reasons doesn’t make me a bad person, right? I can be selfish sometimes… I’ve given all of myself to this world… I only wanted this one thing. This one, singular person…”

Aether is careful to avoid any potential witnesses, sneaking away and hiding within the thick shadows of buildings. Nobody catches him as he makes his way to your front door- but as he attempts to open it, he realizes it’s locked.

Jay had the key.

And now that key is buried deep within the sea…

He groans and sighs out of pure misery, frustrated by yet another trial in this already long and tiresome day. He’s almost tempted to tear down the door, but he knows that’ll cause a scene. All he can do is step over to the side and quietly pry open one of your windows, this scene akin to a predator invading their prey’s den.

Aether is completely silent as he closes the window behind himself and locks it tight, preventing anyone from getting in- or perhaps anyone from getting out. By this time, he figures that Paimon must already be asleep. As for you, he's not so sure.

He saunters down the hall and past the dining room table. Despite everything being hard to see, he clearly spots one thing from the corner of his eye: a flower crown.

His heart aches as he further realizes what all he’s done to you tonight.

He stole someone precious from you… He very selfishly destroyed a future where someone would love and cherish you each and every day- someone that wasn't him- simply because he couldn’t stand the thought of it. 

His stomach churns at the sight.

His hands reach out towards the crown and the tips of his bloody fingers grace the ivory petals, painting them red too. The scent of the flower graces his nose and it calms all of his nerves… They remind him of you. He… He wants to see you.

He needs to see you.

Without thinking any further, he places the crown back down on the table and draws himself towards your bedroom.

He doesn’t bother to knock and check if you’re awake. He turns the handle and slowly pushes the door open, the creaking of wood echoing quietly throughout the bedroom. It’s almost completely dark, save for a single ray of moonlight beaming in from your half-covered window. 

Aether’s gaze softens as his tired eyes rest upon your body. You’re sleeping so peacefully- your chest gently rising and falling without a single care in the world. A dark, deep sense of guilt continues to savagely consume his heart, but he knows it’s already too late. His grave sin has already been committed- there’s no such thing as turning back time. 

There’s no such thing as escaping one’s fate.

So… Should he even bother regretting his decisions now?

He’s careful not to wake you as he locks your window tight. With the power of dendro, he summons vines to hold it down tightly. Then he uses the power of geo to completely block off your bedroom door.

And now…

You’re trapped in here with him.

You twist and turn a little in your sleep, but you don’t wake up quite yet. You murmur little things, but they’re all incoherent. Aether smiles lightly as he sits on the edge of your bed, staring at you, admiring your every feature. He wishes you could both stay like this forever.

As he stirs a little bit, your sleeping self can sense him- and at that, you finally open your eyes.

Everything is so dark and blurry… You can hardly make out a thing.

At the edge of your bed is a figure shrouded by shadows, his back facing you. You groan and rub your eyes in an attempt to regain your vision. “Hnn..?” You hum.

“Jay, is that you..?”

He doesn’t answer.

“...Jay?”

You sit up a little in your bed, your eyes catching a glimpse of gold. Your heart skips a beat. 

“No,” he says.

“I'm... Not Jay.” 

The man shifts in your bed, his movements agonizingly slow.

His face reveals itself in the pale moonlight.

It’s Aether, drenched in blood.

Your eyes widen. 

“A-Aethe-..!” You gasp and try to scream, but he slams a strong hand against your mouth, effectively silencing your cries. “N-no no no, shhhh…” Aether leans his face in closer to yours, leaving only a three inch gap. “Don’t scream,” he pleads.

“You wouldn’t want to wake up Paimon, would you..?”

You’re utterly confused and terrified at his sudden change in nature. Why is he soaked in blood? Why is he alone- where’s Jay? You become so occupied by your frantic thoughts that you fail to notice vines creeping up from underneath your bed, snaking around your wrists and ankles.

Aether’s lone earring glows a radiant pale green, and so do the little gems on his clothes.

The man you once gushed over now appears before you as nothing more than a selfish monster.

But despite it all…

You still thought he looked beautiful.

You struggle and cry against your restraints, the vines digging into your sensitive skin. Aether can’t help himself as he leans down and kisses away your warm tears. “Shh, don’t cry either… I hate to see you cry.” His heart beats out of control as he slowly gives in to his carnal desires.

His lips kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and then he finally lands on your sacred lips.

They were just as soft as he imagined… A perfect match for his own.

It feels so wrong, but it also feels so right. You’re still so worried and terrified about Jay… But the warm, sensual touches Aether feeds you make your mind go hazy. Your better judgment starts to escape through the back door.

Without thinking, you moan so sweetly…

And Aether feels himself getting hard.

Fuck…

“Please keep making that noise,” Aether moans onto the surface of your skin. He’s so incredibly eager as he bites and licks at your bottom lip, begging you for permission. He wants to taste you so badly. 

“N-no, don’t…” You mumble slowly before opening your mouth for him. Your body acts all on its own.

You’ve wanted him for so long that it physically hurts… But you also had already promised Jay your heart. 

You can’t help but wonder why this is all happening.

Is this some kind of sick and twisted fever dream, or is it something far worse: your reality?

Aether’s tongue explores your mouth with reckless abandon. Soon your own tongue matches his pace, and it becomes a heated dance fueled by deeply repressed passions. You arch your back and firmly press your chest against Aether’s, longing to feel his body against your own. A sickening guilt washes over you as you realize what you’re doing, but there’s just something about Aether that makes you lose control.

All of those fantasies from many moons ago have finally seeped into reality…

But at what cost?

As Aether reluctantly removes his mouth from yours, a trail of saliva connects the two of you. He uses his hands to wipe the spit away, but in doing so, he smears Jay’s blood on his chin. Your breath hitches.

“A-Aether,” your voice trembles. “What did you do to Jay?”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Please tell me!”

Aether can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes.

“...Please, don’t think about him anymore,” is all he can say.

Those words send you into shock- paralyzing your entire body.

In that moment, Aether finally breaks away the last invisible chains that hold him back. His face dives into the crevices of your neck and hungrily begins to mark you as his property. His sharp teeth sink into your sensitive skin, and each bite is promptly followed by a series of licks and kisses. You squirm and desperately try to fight back at first, your mind screaming Jay’s name over and over again in protest.

But Aether’s unrelenting love and desperation for you are too hard to keep resisting. 

Gods, you just wished Aether had come to you sooner.

No part of tonight ever needed to happen. Jay didn’t have to die. Aether could’ve had you, had he just approached you and asked for your love. You would’ve taken him by the hand and journeyed with him all across the world, had he just asked once. But now… Now you were nothing more than a hot trembling mess, melting beneath the touch of a guilty murderer.

“...I love you,” Aether confesses at last.

“I love you so much it hurts.”

He reaches down and swiftly removes his dirty gloves, tossing them aside, eager to finally touch your precious skin with his bare hands. “I’ve wanted you so badly for so long, but I… I didn’t know how to say it… I…” Aether’s voice grows sugary and soft as his fingertips lightly trace your skin. He reaches down and plays with the edge of your satin pajama shirt before slowly ripping it by the seams.

You hang onto the edge of every word he speaks. “I can’t stand the thought of you being with another man.” He grits his teeth and throws the remnants of your shirt behind, exposing the top half of you.

“Only… Only I can have you!”

His trembling hands reach down towards your chest, roughly massaging it, eager to toy with your sensitive nipples.

It’s so intoxicating, hearing the traveler profess his unhealthy obsession with you. A lowly groan escapes your throat as his fingers work their magic on you.

“Say it…” Aether leans down, huskily whispering in your ear. “S-say that you love me, too… And only me. Please…” His breathing grows unsteady as his hands continue to work on you, eager to lure out the naughtiest of sounds. It’s so hard to focus on his words when pleasure blurs the lines between what’s right and wrong.

But you’ve also harbored the truth of your feelings all along…

Aether’s name truly was carved into the core of your beating heart, and now it was aching to be acknowledged.

“I,” you gulp slowly. “I love you, Aether…” You gulp.

"I- I love you, and only you."

And with those words, everything gets pushed into motion.

Those few powerful words serve to burn away everything Jay had ever done for you, but they also serve to ignite an unbridled fire from within Aether’s chest.

On some other day, Aether wants to take things slow with you. When he gets his mind cleared up and his sanity back intact, he dreams of showing you very thoroughly just how much he loves you.

But not tonight.

Right now, he just wants to fuck you into the bed until his body physically collapses.

He badly aches to monopolize you and claim you as his property.

You were his and only his. He yearns for you to never forget him- just like how he never forgot about you.

The vines around your body shift in their positions and spread you wide open, leaving you even more vulnerable. Aether’s starving eyes devour your body, admiring both your flaws and perfections. The only thing left to remove were your pants.

“...My angel,” he cood, his hands lingering above the hem of your pajamas. “I’m going to take these off now, so… Don’t struggle, okay?” You reluctantly swallowed down any remaining guilt you had, nodding very slowly.

Then with that, he carefully unwrapped the vines around your ankles and waited to see if you would attack him– but you never did. Your legs remained dormant on the bed as you waited for him to fully undress you, and this fact alone filled Aether with a twisted sense of comfort and relief. 

You truly did love him… Your earlier words weren’t hollow.

His heart started to beat out of control.

In some ways, he wasn’t the only monster in this room.

Jay was now a victim to the both of you.

His hands pinched the edges of your silk fabric and slid them down, moving at a tantalizing slow pace. Aether was practically drooling as more and more of your beautiful body became uncovered, teasing him, begging to be kissed and touched. When he finally removed the last piece of your clothing, he froze up in awe.

Your body… It’s just as ravishing as he imagined.

He’d worship you like a god, if you’d let him.

“Hey,” you nervously shifted your hips a little. “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off, too?”

His eyes widened at your words, cheeks flushing red. He was so consumed with your body that he completely forgot about his own. “O-oh, right,” he hummed shyly. He hardly knew where to begin- should he take his shirt off first, or his pants? The idea of undressing right in front of you made him feel hot all over.

If your hands hadn’t been tied up by the vines, he would’ve asked you to undress him- but a part of him didn’t want to risk you potentially trying to escape. He knew it was unlikely at this moment, but the paranoia in the back of his mind remained stubborn all the same. He lifted himself off the bed and turned his back towards you.

Aether settled on removing his shirt first, then his shoes and the rest. It was mesmerizing- watching him get undressed from behind. His body was incredible… His toned arms and legs, his smooth gorgeous stomach, the bruises and scars that marked him all over…

“Archons,” you whisper. “You’re prettier than the stars.”

Those passionate, loving words drive him crazy. And when he turns around, you audibly gasp.

He… He’s…

Drool slips past your parted lips at the sight in front of you.

Seeing your strong reaction to his body makes Aether grow wild. 

He practically jumps onto the bed as he kisses your lips once again, mashing them harshly together. His cock is fully hard and dripping with precum, absolutely aching to ravage your body. He wants to feel you squeeze around his length.

Aether positions himself right at your entrance, ready to let himself lose control at any second. But he asks you one more question:

“Are you ready?”

Your mind races… No, yes, no…

“...Yes.”

Those words are the last thing he needs before he finally takes what he's always dreamed of having. He knows full-well that you both need to keep quiet, so he hushes you both with another heated kiss. Aether grabs the underside of your legs and raises them upwards, sandwiching you between himself and the bed. His pace is slow and passionate at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, but it doesn’t last for long. 

He thrusts into you as hard and fast as he possibly can, rutting into you like an animal in heat. You want to reach out your hands and wrap your arms around his neck so badly, but the vines around your wrists still restrain you. The bed shakes and creaks from beneath you both, nearly banging against the wall. 

You truly can’t escape him now.

He looked absolutely feral as he fucked your angelic body.

Sweat began to dribble down his pale skin, strands of blonde hair falling over his perfect face- sticking loosely to it. His teeth bit down on his bottom lip harsh enough to draw blood.

Your body perfectly stretches and fits around his size… A match made in heaven.

Aether can’t help but think: “this is better than anything I've ever imagined.”

You’ve also never heard him be so vocal, the way he quietly moans your name over and over again like a mantra. His rough hands desperately claw at your flush skin, fearing that you’ll run away or disappear if he stops touching you for even a second.

He slows down then speeds up again, changing things up in little ways. For one moment, he pulls all the way out, then slams his entire length back into you again.

It drives you insane.

An unfamiliar feeling begins to arise in your stomach- hot, twisting, overwhelming. It’s like an explosion just waiting to go off– you grow more and more sensitive to Aether’s every touch.

“A-Aether,” your voice weakly escapes your throat. “I- I’m close.”

The sound of his skin slapping against your own drives the both of you insane.

“Oh, fuck...” He moaned hotly. “Please, do this one thing for me…” His thrusting grows more erratic by the second, and you look up at him with loving eyes– waiting for him to continue speaking.

“Please, beg me to cum inside of you… Just this once.” Aether bites his tongue as he suppresses a whine, careful to not be too loud. His cock twitches and stirs inside of you as you squeeze around him a little more.

“Aether…” You leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. “Please, inside me...”

“Cum inside of me.”

Those words are like drugs being injected directly into his veins.

His hands shift and frantically begin to touch your most sensitive areas, finally pushing you over the edge.

Those sweet, intimate words grace his ears and he comes undone right then and there, filling you up entirely. 

Aether throws his head back and uses one hand to cover up his mouth, muffling his passionate mewling. He twitches beneath your touch as he presses his hips firmly into yours. He didn’t want to part from you for even a second.

It’s all so good- truly like that of a twisted dream.

As his high slowly fades away, he falls over and collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. His hands reach up, he pets your hair, then he cages you with his arms and legs. “Promise me…” He tenderly kisses your cheek. “Promise me that you’ll be mine.” The vines around your wrists come undone.

Aether’s voice cracks as he looks up at you with puppy eyes, pleading with you, begging you to give him what he wants. “I can’t stay here in Mondstadt but… You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

“Would you wait for me until the end of time..?”

For a moment, your heart stops.

Those are truly heavy words– such a deep, intimate promise.

It’s hard to tell him yes after everything he’s done. Aether killed the man who loved you dearly… Killed the man who’s stayed by your side for countless months on end. Aether tore your defenses to shreds and took advantage of the fact that, deep down, you love him so much it hurts.

He kisses you more, anxiously waiting for you to hand over your heart, body, and soul to him.

And in the end… You give in to him once more.

“Y-yes, Aether. I will…” a single tear escapes your eye.

“...I will wait for you, forever, even beyond death…”

And it’s those final words that seal your eternal fate.

[sky-fire-forever]

I started thinking about what each character from Our Flag Means Death would be the god of if they were gods, so...

Stede Bonnet: God of "the little things". He's the god to thank for the tiny details that add up to make life worth living. The god of stopping to smell the roses. The god of finding comfort in the things that make you happy. A god of joy and of hope. A non-violent god. A nurturer at his core. He is the breeze through your hair and the satisfaction of a job well done. He is the warmth of a partner beside you when you wake up in the morning and the taste of your tea at just the right temperature

Edward Teach: A god of change. Represented by the sea: always in motion, always unpredictable, always pushing and pulling in intense ways. The god of extremes: both good and bad. A god of intense emotions and stormy seas. A god of passion and desperation and the desire to reach up and meet the sun. God of the horizon: where the sea meets the sky. God of smooth sailing and of journeys. He's the god of the person you've become once the journey is done. He is the god of progress and of healing, protector of those who look in the mirror and no longer recognize the stranger who stares back at them.

Izzy Hands: The god of misplaced loyalty. God of unhealthy devotion. He is the god of blind love and all that implies. God of those blind to the suffering they cause others in the name of love and of those blind to their own suffering at the hands of those they love. He is the protector of children whose cries go unheard by parents who don't want them and the voice of lovers who get trapped in the same toxic cycles. He is the desperate reaching of hands begging to be held that are denied touch

Buttons: God of transformation. He is the god of an open-mind. He is the waves that crash upon the beaches and the seagulls who make their nests by the sea. He is yearning. He is the feeling of homesickness for a place you've never known. He is friends made in unlikely places and community found in isolation. He is the patron of long distance relationships, of the intense yearning to be with someone you can't touch. He is the belief that you will be held in the embrace of what you love

Frenchie: God of belief. He is the god of harmless superstition and ritual. The god of luck, both good and bad. He is the god of believing in what you can not prove to be true. The god of faith: faith in people and faith in himself. He is the believer. He is trust. He is the betrayal of that trust. He is manipulation and schemes and lies, but he is the love of the game. A trickster god who doubles as protector. He is unseen truths

Roach: God of meals. He is the god of sharing. The god of breaking bread with friends or strangers. The god of offering a helping hand. He is the god of laughter and of warmth. The god of house parties and of the intimacy of a home-cooked offering on a date. God of bake sales and of bringing people together. He is the god of community

Jim Jimenez: They are the god of the rejection of fate. The god of choosing your own destiny and creating your own path. God of rejection of the life others planned for you, the breaker of cycles. They are every child who rejected their parents' dreams and they are every person who turned their back on revenge. They are the protector of all who reject the concept of fate and inevitably

Oluwande Boodhari: The god of compassion. He is a hand extended to someone you don't understand. He is conversation rather than violence. He is the choice to try to know someone rather than write them off. He is the protector of the unheard and the unseen. He is unrequited love and he is everyone who searches for a friend. He is home in other people and the feeling of safety from a hug from a friend

Wee John Feeney: Goddess of fire and passion. He is the goddess of creativity and desire, the god of being more than what's expected of you. He is the god of inspiration, of when you create and can't stop making up new ideas. He is a mind overflowing with thoughts and the burning warmth of success. He is every project that people have started in excitement. Every work in progress is inspired by him

Lucius Spriggs: The god of artistic expression. He is all pieces of trauma art, of venting through the page what you can't speak aloud. He is a portrait of a lover painted only the way someone who loves them could. He is the creation of something to bring out the feelings inside that can not be expressed in any other way. He is all love songs and all stories from someone who used metaphor to unravel their feelings

Black Pete: God of stories and exaggeration. He is the god of the feeling of inadequacy when looking up to someone you admire. The desire to be respected and the desperation to be loved. He is the tiny white lies everyone tells now and again. He is compliments to make others feel good no matter their sincerity. He is friendship and joy in knowing parts of someone they want to be known. He is campfire tales and stories around the dinner table. He is legend and myth that ties people together

[sagelasters]

the infatuated ego.

Like a broken record, the infatuated ego will keep wanting and yearning till the verge of destruction – it's a cycle of self violence that a lot of people will eventually be stuck in. It will reach for straws trying to grasp onto materialism. It strikes fear and anxiety in you because you’re letting it. You let yourself serve the ego when it should be the other way around. You persist for a good two days or so, and then revert back to the old story because it ‘didn’t work’. You set an intention to be aware in the I AM state and then quit halfway because it ‘didn’t work’. There’s no such thing as failing when we apply the law of assumptions, especially when you can imagine yourself having it, and experiencing it. Persisting in that assumption will invite discomfort because you’re not used to unpacking the physical logics, but it will feel natural after some time. The ego is meant to serve you, not the other way around. Either you tame it or you’ll just be in despair that nothing is changing. Gods don’t question their own power, so why do you?

[yanderes-galore]

Can I ask for Tarhos Kovács aka The Knight from DBD romantic concept???

I can try, although his attraction is ambiguous due to how Tarhos is.

Yandere! The Knight/Tarhos Kovács Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, The Knight Backstory, Murder/Violence, Blood mention, Sadism, Slight stalking, Forced "relationship".

Tarhos has only seen the worst humanity has to offer in the age he came from.

From a young age he was taken in after the slaughter of his village.

He became a mercenary and has no issue with the lives/suffering of others.

With his group of mercenary brethren, Tarhos was used to committing heinous acts.

So when he was sent to the realm to cause all of that, it's his form of heaven.

This isn't the type of man who'd fall for someone to the point of obsession right off.

I picture him as a silent mercenary who kill with no words.

You have no idea what he looks like, to you it's just like a suit of armor chasing you.

Like most killers who don't have the delusional mindset, it would take many trials before he finds something he likes about you.

Many sacrifices... hatch escapes... opened gates... pain... an endless cycle.

It's hard to tell what Tarhos would like in a potential partner.

It's not like you can really read him at all.

Due to me seeing him as silent except for the occasional grunt or gasp, he can only really display changes through actions.

The trials all blend together for you but the moment you notice any sort of mercy from the knight it confuses you.

Tarhos himself is surprised.

He thought his heart would only ever crave bloodshed.

Then he met you, a survivor that made him yearn for something other than that.

He finds this strange, in his childhood he's never once wished to find someone to adore.

Bloodshed brought him comfort, it's all he knew.

So... why is he envious?

Why does he hate it when you show other survivors such care... such mercy.

Why does he get more joy when killing them afterwards?

Is there some higher power here making this change?

Does he just... want something softer?

Tarhos doesn't understand his feelings but still finds himself subconsciously pursuing them.

This would be why you catch the knight slowly shambling towards you at times.

You'd also see him hesitate when swinging his sword towards you.

Soon he almost never puts you on a hook.

His friends, the gang the fog dragged in with him, call him soft.

He wants to deny it... but at the same time he can't.

Tarhos is still capable of his job, yet with you he falters.

At some point he stops trying to fight it.

Fine, he likes this one.

He isn't sure why but he does.

So... he claims you.

He isolates you from all the rest and is sure to slaughter them first.

Their blood coats his sword and armor as he slams them on hooks or removes them from this trial by his own blade.

Quickly you and him become alone.

He isn't the best with courting.

Honestly he rarely sees it.

However, he'll learn.

He'll repeat this process of getting you alone until he learns what to do with you.

Poor thing must be ao scared.

Every trial with the knight now becomes you meeting him drenched in the remains of your fellow survivors.

He attempts to show mercy, to care for you as he's seen you do.

As expected... it doesn't go as planned.

Tarhos doesn't care if he has to chase you or hold you down.

He'll find out why you make his heart beat with such adrenaline...

Even if it means using countless trials to do it.

[cynic-spirit]

A time before meeting and finding out about his soulmate y/n

Before Y/N entered Aemond Targaryen's life, the world around him was one defined by darkness and power. He was a mobster—a figure feared and respected within the shadows of the city. Aemond commanded loyalty and instilled fear in those who crossed him, his reputation forged through ruthless actions and calculated decisions. But even within the chaos of his existence, he often found himself grappling with an unsettling sense of emptiness.

As he sat alone in his lavish office, surrounded by expensive suits and the echoes of distant laughter from the party he had just hosted, Aemond gazed out at the city skyline. The glimmering lights offered a beautiful contrast to the cold reality of his life. He ran a hand through his silver hair, reflecting on the conversations he’d had earlier in the evening—well-dressed women eager for his attention, men seeking his favor. Yet none of it stirred anything within him. In the depths of his soul, a quiet voice whispered a longing for something more.

Aemond had always been told about soulmates, a concept that seemed both alluring and absurd. Stories of fated pairs, of threads connecting two souls, echoed in his mind. He had heard tales from friends and associates—how their soulmates brought joy and fulfillment, grounding them in a chaotic world. Yet, deep down, Aemond had convinced himself that such a connection was not meant for him. The idea of love felt like a distant dream, a fairytale reserved for those unburdened by the weight of their choices and actions.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. Could he ever have a soulmate? Would someone like him, with his past and present, ever be deserving of such a bond? The thought nagged at him, and a part of him scoffed at the notion. He was a man built on shadows and blood, a life immersed in crime where vulnerability was a luxury he could not afford. He had always brushed off the idea of love, dismissing it as a distraction. “I don’t need anyone,” he would tell himself, a mantra he repeated so often that he almost believed it.

Yet, despite his assertions, the loneliness crept in during quiet moments. There were times when he’d watch couples, the way they interacted with such ease and affection, and a pang of yearning would strike him. Aemond would feel a flicker of envy mixed with longing—a desire to experience the kind of love that seemed to light up the darkest corners of life. But he was trapped in a cycle of power, violence, and a façade he had built around himself, keeping everyone at a distance.

As he picked up a glass of scotch, he swirled the amber liquid, lost in thought. Was he truly destined to navigate his life alone? The idea gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He thought of his family, of Aegon and Helaena, and how they seemed to have found their places in the world, bonded by love and connection. Aemond felt like an outsider looking in, isolated in his power, yearning for the kind of intimacy he had never allowed himself to seek.

He took a sip of his drink, trying to drown out the noise of his introspection. Yet, the longing for companionship lingered, a ghost haunting the edges of his consciousness. Could he ever lower his guard enough to let someone in? Could there be a woman out there who would see him not as the ruthless mobster he was but as a man searching for a sense of belonging?

The thought of a soulmate seemed both tantalizing and terrifying. Aemond wanted to believe in it, yet he feared what it would mean for him. Vulnerability was a risk, and in his world, risks often led to disastrous consequences. So he buried the idea, reinforcing the walls he had built around his heart, convinced that he was better off alone.

But even as he pushed the thought away, a flicker of hope persisted in the back of his mind. Perhaps one day, he would meet someone who could break through his defenses—a woman who could see past the ruthless exterior and touch the wounded parts of his soul. Until then, Aemond would continue his life as a mobster, entrenched in power and fear, all the while wondering if fate had something greater in store for him.