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cowgurrrl · 7 months ago

Text

I Don't Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Author's note: this hatched as an idea for @tightjeansjavi 's june writing challenge but it doesn't end as I thought it would necessarily but I kinda lurv it so (ps thank you @egcdeath for your help 🫶)

Summary: "Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small quiet room." aka Javi makes a reappearance in your life [8.6k (she’s a whopper)]

Warnings: canonical type shit

It's a random Friday in April 1998 when you're walking down the hallway of FBI headquarters and hear a familiar voice call your name. Not just any voice but a voice you came to know as well as you would know your own. A voice you loved. A voice you haven't heard in four years. You freeze in your tracks and take two breaths before you actually turn around to see him.

He smiles big as he approaches you, and you struggle to find the same response. His hair is shorter and styled nicely, and he's wearing a bureaucratic suit, which you know he hates or used to hate. He's broader than you remember and seemingly more confident. You're still tense, but once he's close enough, muscle memory takes over, and you hug him.

His cologne is different. For some reason, that tugs at your heart.

"Hey, honey," he says into your hair, squeezing you a little harder. You hold him for another second before remembering you're at work and let him go. "Wasn't expectin' such a warm welcome."

"Well, that's what happens when you see an old friend for the first time in a long time." You say and Javi smirks, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"'Old friend.' Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is when I'm at work and have a reputation to uphold."

"Right," he says and puts his hands up in defense. "Didn't mean to insult Ms. FBI."

"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you resigned." You redirect, making him laugh even though you just gave away that you kept up with him even after you broke up.

"Stoddard asked me to teach a few classes to incoming DEA agents. Figured it was a good enough reason to get out of Texas," he says. You step to the side to let somebody go by in the hallway, and that ever-wandering eye falls down your body. "You look great."

"You too," you adjust some files against your chest, suddenly all too aware of how heavy his gaze is, and glance around. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week. We should get drinks or something. Catch up." He says, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You're talking like you went to college together, and you're gonna reminisce about the good ole days over a few drinks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Sure, Javi. When are you free?"

"For you? Any time," he says so easily your heart squeezes. "But, I'm around tonight. I can meet you at the bar across from the Hill after work?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, then. I'll see you tonight." He smiles and looks you over again before swaggering down the hallway and into one of the classrooms like he used to walk to your desk or into your apartment. Nostalgia and something bigger bubbles in your throat, and you swallow it down.

You've often wondered about what it'd be like if you ever saw Javi again.

You never expected it would sting as much as it does.

You force yourself down the hallway into your office and let out a big sigh as you bury your head in your hands. Your engagement is cold against your skin.

You should be planning a wedding. You should be debating which version of white the napkins should be— eggshell or cream— or fighting with vendors on the phone. You should be doing a lot of things in the two months leading up to your wedding. Getting drinks with your ex is not one of them.

You worked at the United States Embassy in Bogotá during the hunt for Pablo Escobar in the early nineties. You were a fresh graduate from the DEA academy and got shipped off the day after you passed all your exams. They needed bodies in chairs and on the ground doing work to end the drug war, and you just happened to have a pulse and the qualification. Javier Peña happened to have those same things. Now, he's known as one of the men who took down the most dangerous crime syndicates in Latin America, but, at the time, he was just Javi.

He was a little older, a little more experienced, and, by all accounts, a little bit of a slut. He had a wandering eye and a bad habit of sleeping with newly minted Embassy employees who didn't know better. You were warned about Javi and his brown eyes and swagger, but you couldn't avoid him. He was your coworker, for Christ's sake. So all you could do was remind yourself you were there for a job and try to ignore him when possible. What they don't tell you about being thousands of miles away from home and dealing with nightmare-inducing horrors every single day is that you start looking for comfort wherever you can find it.

You made bad decisions like smoking cigarette after cigarette, sneaking just a little bit of whiskey in your coffee, or letting Javi bend you over his desk and leave bruises on your skin as he buried himself inside you. One time, you told yourself. You'll do this one time to get it out of your system, and then you'll both move on. As long as it didn't interfere with work, you thought it was okay to fuck him once, but either convenience or care kept you reaching for each other for the rest of your time in Colombia.

You spent most nights at his apartment because it was a little nicer and it felt like it would be too real if he entered your space. For all his sarcasm and hard edges, he was sweet with you. He'd make you breakfast and drive you to work under the guise of carpooling. Over time, you started to learn all his little quirks and tells, and you looked for him first when the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased. He started stealing files off your pile of paperwork so you'd have less work to do, cook your favorite meals, and was ready with open arms when things got to be too much.

The love was like everything else that happened between you: quiet yet all-consuming.

As the months stretched on and you only grew to love him more and more, you started to imagine a life with him. You were naive and had too much faith in the world, but you couldn't stop yourself. The daydreams of a house with a big backyard, a dog, and maybe a few kids to fill it kept you alive when it felt like not even the weapon attached to your hip could. You wanted it so bad. You told him how much you wanted it, and he agreed despite how fucking crazy it sounded out loud. Love allows you to be delusional to avoid the possibility of rejection.

And you loved him so much that you let yourself believe once Escobar was dead or in prison that, you could go home together and live a somewhat normal life. That he could give it all up. That you could make it work.

So you threw yourself into the hunt. You didn't sleep. You barely ate. You went from smoking a few cigarettes a day to a pack as you got closer and closer. Javi wasn't much better off, and you definitely enabled each other's behavior, but you believed so hard in this future that you thought it would be worth it in the end.

He got snappy, and you argued a lot. You both shut down so much that it's a miracle you could find your way back to normalcy. He didn't even tell you when he got sent to D.C. for questioning. He just disappeared. When you and Steve stood over Escobar's body on a rooftop in Medellín, you couldn't focus on anything but the blood splatter on the shoes Javi got you as an early Christmas gift. At the end of the day, your only thought was, "It's over. We can go home. We can start over. We can make something of this."

Escobar wasn't even cold when Javi accepted a new position in Cali.

Everything he'd seen and done, the things you counseled each other through, the faces that kept him up at night didn't matter as much as that job. He broke the news to you as you were packing up your apartment. "There's an opportunity out there for you, too," he said, looking at you with those big eyes. You almost folded, drowning in affection for him, until you remembered how many times he'd almost died or disappeared without a word or struggled so much he buried his memories between your legs or at the bottom of a bottle.

How could he want to return to that? How could he want you to return to that?

That's when you broke.

You don't remember exactly what was said during the argument, but you know it was bad. There was a lot of yelling and tears. You said things you didn't mean, and he returned the favor. It went on for what seemed like hours, back and forth back and forth, until you were exhausted and done negotiating. You gave him an ultimatum: come to D.C. with you and start your lives, or go to Cali. He chose Cali. You chose D.C., and that was it.

That had to be it.

You didn't talk much in those final days, but you did a lot of crying. The horrors he helped keep at bay threatened to suffocate you. You were a shell of a person, but you couldn't reach for him again, knowing he didn't love you enough to stay with you. You had the tiniest shred of self-respect.

So, the day you left, you gave his stuff back, and he drove you to the airport in complete silence, even walking you all the way to the terminal without saying a word. His final act of care even when you'd told him you hated him forty-eight hours earlier. You waited until the very last second to get on the plane, hoping he'd change his mind or you'd change yours. You were both too stubborn and too broken, so you wished him luck and left. You didn't even hug him because you were so scared you'd never leave his arms if you did.

Things happened fast once you were stateside again. Within a week, you found a nice apartment in D.C., transferred to the FBI, adopted a cat named Astro, and swore off dating. With all your experience in Colombia, you got your pick of jobs and workload. You avoided field work for a while and got stuck pushing papers around at your desk, but you got bored three months in and asked to go back out. Your first case back in the field had you dealing with a serial arsonist who may or may not have had ties to a terrorist group. You were examining the rubble of yet another building when one of the firefighters called your name.

Harry was tall and charming and trying to explain something about accelerants, but all you could do was watch his scarred hands as they pointed. You remember thinking he was going to be a problem. It took three more fires for you to catch your guy, and Harry would later say it took those fires to build up the courage to ask you out. "You were much scarier than any fire," he told you. He had soot on his cheeks, and the flashing lights made his eyes sparkle. There was something about that stupid New York accent that just made you melt.

You thought one date couldn't hurt. You thought it would help you adjust to your new life. When he showed up in a nice shirt with a bouquet of flowers to pick you up for your first date, you knew you were fucked.

You went on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. He was patient with you as you struggled to open up to him about your time in the DEA and never pressured you to tell him anything you weren't ready to. That Christmas, you went home to New York with him and met his parents and all three of his sisters. By the next spring, you, Harry, and Astro moved into an apartment halfway between each of your jobs.

You got into the habit of bringing him cookies when he worked overnights at the station and smelling his shirt when he got home because, more often than not, it'd still smell like smoke. He'd surprise you with coffee or flowers at work "just because" and drag you away from your desk when you've been staring at the same words for however long. When a bullet grazed you in the middle of a chase, he made one of his EMT friends drive him to the hospital you were at in the ambulance with the lights on so he could get there as fast as possible. He made it in seven minutes and started crying the moment he saw you lying in the hospital bed, even though you were completely fine.

For something as unexpected as this relationship, you guys work really well. He cooks dinner, and you wash the dishes at the end of the night. He looks at big houses in nice neighborhoods and humors you even though there's no way you can afford it with two civil servant paychecks. But, when you see him playing with your nieces and nephews, something so deep inside you aches that you think the life-long debt would be worth it if it meant he got to be a dad. You take time off to visit his family, and even though he thinks it's the most badass thing about you, he doesn't say anything about your involvement with Escobar until you accidentally let something slip during a barbecue. When work gets too much, you hold each other, cry, and make promises to stay alive.

He proposes to you on the fourth anniversary of your first date. You knew he would because you'd looked at rings together, but you blub like a baby anyway and almost tackle him to the ground in Rock Creek Park. You're deliriously happy as you celebrate your engagement and even as you start to plan the wedding. It's like you blinked, and suddenly, it'd been four years since you left Colombia, and you're living the life you dreamt about, just with a new person. A person you love so fucking much, you still get butterflies when he walks in the room. The ring on your finger and the way he casually drops "my wife" into conversation when he means "fiancée" only adds to the giddiness.

You can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him. So, why the fuck did you agree to get drinks with Javi?

You pick your head up and dial the firehouse number before your brain can fully devolve into panic mode. They might be out dealing with a fire, but you figure it's worth a shot. On the second ring, Jack answers with his gruff "D.C. Fire Station 19."

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, hey, darlin'! How're you doin'?" He asks, and you swear you can hear him smiling. Jack is one of Harry's best friends and groomsmen, and he absolutely adores you.

"I'm good. How're you?" You ask, already feeling the weight come off your shoulders just from talking to someone.

"You know, I can't complain. I mean, I could, but I won't," he says, and you laugh. "You callin' for your lover boy?"

"If he's not busy, yes."

"Nah, you're all good. Well, listen, it was nice talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'll get him now." He says before yelling Harry's name through the station so loud you wonder if the neighbors could hear him. There's some shuffling and a quick "'S your wife" as the phone changes hands. The identifier makes you laugh and it's the first thing Harry hears when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that." He swoons, and you make a sympathetic noise.

"Rough day?"

"No, I just miss you."

"You're so cheesy," you say. "I miss you too. A lot."

"You okay? You sound off." He asks, and you chuckle. Of course, he caught the tiniest change in your voice.

"I'm okay. I bumped into somebody I worked with in Colombia today, so I just… feel weird," you say, rubbing your forehead. You hear him shuffle like he's trying to move to a more private place, but the cord on the phone isn't letting him get very far.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. We're gonna get some drinks tonight and catch up."

"Maybe that'll help," he chirps. "I mean, as much as I like listening to your stories, it might make you feel better to talk to someone who was there. Maybe get some closure."

"Maybe." You say. It goes quiet on the line, but you know he's there because you can hear him breathing and hear the distant sounds of the firehouse. You don't feel pressured to say anything; just knowing he's there breaks up the tension in your chest. "Chief is gonna have your ass if he finds out you're running up the phone bill." You tease, and he laughs.

"I'll just tell him I'm talking to my wife, and if he doesn't want me on the phone, then he should stop making me work overnights."

"Which I'm sure he'll take well."

"You're his favorite. I'm almost positive he'd install a whole phone just for you," he says. It's true, but hearing it still makes you smile. It goes quiet again.

You watch people mill around the bullpen from your office window and chew the inside of your cheek. You should tell him it's Javi. He wouldn't discourage you from getting drinks with him, but he knows your history with him. He should be in the loop. He's going to be your husband, for God's sake. But you also don't need him worrying about this while in a burning building or doing CPR.

"You know I'm not technically your wife for another two months, right?" You change the subject, and he hums.

"Yeah, but it has a nice ring to it. My wife." Even the way he says it over the phone makes you giddy.

"I can't argue with that." You say. He takes a deep breath, and you copy him.

"You're gonna be okay. Go get drinks with your friend and try to have some fun. Maybe invite them to the wedding if you get drunk enough and decide it's a good idea," he suggests, and you laugh at the idea of Javi at your wedding. "I'll be home tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk about it or not talk about it if that's what you want, okay?"

"Okay." You resolve and twirl the phone cord in your fingers.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Have a good day. Don't be a hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says. You wait another second to have him nearby before hanging up and looking out over the bullpen again.

You could not show up. You could go home, cuddle with Astro, and put on Sex and the City or something else to take your mind off the day. You could go to bed early and take Harry breakfast in the morning. You know his hair will be messy and a little darker than normal, but he'll still smile and pull you into his lap even though the guys tease him all the time about your PDA.

But you're also too interested in what Javi could have to say to do that. You owe it to yourself to get closure or answers or whatever the fuck he has left to offer you.

And then you'll never think about him again.

Easy.

It's a slow day filled with paperwork and pencil-pushing at the FBI. No bombs or killers or threats. Just meetings and emails and the dread about meeting with Javi all day. You linger around the office a little longer than you need to until you're almost late, and only then do you start walking to the Hill.

It's bustling with tourists dying for a peek at the cherry blossoms scattered around D.C. and the Suits you usually see trying to get home. The April sun feels good on your skin, especially after being inside all day, and you take a moment to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the sky.

All things considered, if Javi was going to visit D.C., this would be the time to do it. Spring is in full bloom, and the last dredges of winter only show up at night or early in the morning when it's still cold. People are constantly out walking their dogs or taking their kids to the playgrounds. It feels like the city has come alive again after such a long winter. You come up with a list of recommendations of things for Javi to do while he's here, even though he probably won't do any of them. The least you could do is give him something to distract himself from work.

By the time you get to the bar, the sun has nearly set, and traffic is a waking nightmare. You push your anxiety away and duck into the bar, searching for Javi's familiar eyes amongst the exhausted interns and law students. He's in the corner, scanning the space just like you thought he would, and there's a glass waiting for you at the table. His eyes light up when he sees you, and your chest aches.

He gets up to greet you with a hug and pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman. "Don't know if your order's changed, but I figured I'd make a guess." He says, gesturing to your drink as you settle across from each other. You smile and hang your jacket on the back of your chair.

"Thank you. Next round is on me," you say as you raise your glass to his and take a sip. "How was teaching?"

"It was fine. Although I wish they'd actually listen instead of just staring at me like I have a second head." He says, and you laugh.

"You're a living legend to them. Escobar and the Godfathers of Cali? You might be the most experienced person they've come across."

"I think I'm the person professors warn students not to be in the field."

"There are much worse things to be than a Javier Peña or a Steve Murphy," you say. "Besides, I think the DEA has bigger problems than a few rogue agents."

He shrugs and glances up when the bell above the door chimes, checking out whoever just walked in. He did the same thing when you sat in bars in Colombia like he was always waiting for a fight. You used to tease him about it, but the fact that he still does it makes you smile.

"Steve sends his love, by the way." He says.

"How is he? How old is Olivia now?"

"She's gonna be five soon, and they're about to have another baby. A boy," he beams. "They're all doing good. Steve runs training courses for FBI agents now and sometimes goes back to Colombia to liaise with their government. Connie works at a hospital, and Olivia's in Pre-K."

"Sounds like you guys talk a lot." You're pleasantly surprised. They were good partners, but they could barely stand to look at each other when things got tense. Not to mention Steve leaving the DEA at the same time you did.

"Well, when Olivia started calling me Uncle Javi, it was pretty hard to ignore him," he says, and you 'aw' at the idea of her little hands reaching for him. Uncle Javi suits him. "She's a good kid."

He fills you in on his work in Texas and asks about your transfer. You tell him what you can about your job and the annoying bureaucrats you hate working with. He seems lighter than you've seen before, not just because of the drink in his hand. His shoulders are relaxed, and even though he still has the instincts of someone working in the field, he doesn't get trapped in them like he used to. It's a nice change.

You're almost done with your first drink when he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers you one. God, when was the last time you even bought a pack of cigarettes? It had to have been right after Harry came home from a particularly bad fire resulting from a stray cigarette. Three people died. After that, you couldn't pick up a cigarette without thinking about the seventeen-year-old who got stuck in the apartment. That must've been three years ago now.

"I quit," you say, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"That's new." He says like your hair turned blue before his eyes, but pops one into his mouth anyway. You shrug.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no, 'm not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Yeah, well," you sigh. "American cigarettes aren't as good as the Colombian ones."

"I guess that's true," he says as he flicks his lighter open and inhales until the end glows. Just as always, he politely blows smoke away from your face. "Alright, so you got a new job, a new apartment, a cat, and you quit smoking. What else has changed since I saw you last?" He asks, and your thumb immediately presses into the band of your engagement ring.

Well, it's now or never.

"I, uh... I'm getting married," you say, and his eyes fall to your ring. "In two months." He takes a big sip.

"Congratulations," he says. It might be the most unenthusiastic thing you've ever heard somebody say. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Harry. We've been together for a few years now."

"What's he do?" He asks in his interrogator's voice, and you give him a look.

"We don't have to do this." You say. Javi takes another drag of his cigarette and grinds his teeth.

"Do what?" He asks. "It shouldn't be hard to talk about if you love him."

"I do."

"Then, why don't you want to tell me about him?"

"Is that a serious question?" You scoff, and he shrugs. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I already asked you," he says. "What does he do for work?"

"He's a firefighter." You know it's a cliche: a cop and a firefighter, but you don't really care.

"How'd you meet?"

"First field case I had was an arsonist. He was one of the guys on site when I got there."

"Romantic," Javi muses, and you hum. You wait for him to continue bombarding you with questions, but the air gets thick, and suddenly, all you can do is take big gulps of your drink. You signal to the bartender for another, and Javi finishes his cigarette in silence. "Well, I'm happy for you," he says softly. He doesn't seem like he is, but you know better than to press him, so you just nod.

"Thank you," you say. The bartender drops two more drinks off at your table, and Javi raises his glass to you.

"Here's to you and Terry-"

"Harry," you correct, and he laughs, breaking up the tension that's settled. He took the news much better than you expected, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There always seems to be one waiting when Javi's around.

"To you and Harry and a lifetime of happiness." He says, tapping his glass against yours and taking a drink. "Now, tell me what you've been doing with the fuckin' FBI."

"Oh, you're gonna need to buy me a few more drinks before I start spilling government secrets, Peña." The name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it, and it brings you back to hot Colombian days and red yarn on a corkboard and his apartment. He raises his eyebrows like it's a challenge and smirks.

"Don't tempt me with a good time."

It's late and you're drunk. Drunker than you've been in a while. You didn't mean to. You just kept talking and drinking, and it felt so good talking to him after so long. Once you got through with the elephant in the room, it was so easy to fall back into the groove with him. You talked about Colombia and your lives outside of work. You even tell him the story of accidentally letting it slip that you used to work for the DEA after smoking a little bit of weed with Harry's sister, Caitlin.

You laughed together until last call and then argued over who would pay the tab. "Consider it my weddin' gift," he half-slurred, and you rolled your eyes and let him pay.

Now, you're strolling the empty National Mall, working off your buzz and elongating the time you have with him. You didn't realize how much you missed him until tonight. Despite everything that happened, you did have good days with him. Days filled with music and chain smoking and laughter. You'd like to get those back. You'd like that version of him back.

As you walk, you point out monuments to him and messily retell the stories the tour guide told you when Harry thought a walking tour of D.C. was a good second-date idea. You switch presidents and periods too much to make sense, but Javi listens anyway. Every so often, his warm hand will brush against yours, barely touching your skin but enough for you to notice when he does it. Neither of you say anything about it or break the flow of your conversation. Maybe it's for old-time's sake. Maybe it's because you don't know what there is to say. The night is clear and eerily quiet. The only sound besides your laughter and drunken stories is the chilly wind blowing through the trees and the clacking of heels from an exhausted-looking White House intern as she walks by.

Or, at least, it was until you stumbled across a busker by the Lincoln Memorial. The empty space echoes with the sound of his saxophone, and you smile as you get closer. There are a few other people milling around, and a few take turns throwing coins in his case. You've seen him playing here before, but you've never had the time to actually stop and listen. He's good. You wish you'd stopped sooner.

"You wanna dance?" Javi whispers in your ear, his breath fanning across your neck, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Here?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else is."

"C'mon," he tuts. "Live a little." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else. He just grabs your hand and pulls you a little closer to the musician. You sigh but let Javi hold one of your hands and rest the other on his shoulder. He smirks and you roll your eyes to hide the fact that you're shocked he wants to dance. With you. In public.

Sure, you had little moments where you danced in the kitchen, but never in public. Even then, it wouldn't have ever been his idea to dance. He's like a whole new person. You don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck happened to him in Cali?

He spins you under his arm, and you do your best to follow his lead. You have two left feet as it is, something Harry has helped get out of your system, but the alcohol makes it even worse. You almost trip yourself but land against Javi's chest before you can hit the ground. He makes an oomph sound but doesn't do anything to push you away. You don't do anything to pull away.

The saxophonist continues playing, and the cicadas chirp nearby. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Javi's heartbeat. You think you'd know the sound anywhere. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest when you woke up from nightmares, and he was the one to calm you down. You used to count the contractions of the muscles in his heart until you fell back to sleep. It was often the first thing you heard when you woke up if bombs weren't going off somewhere in the city or your phone wasn't blaring with an emergency message from the Embassy.

And now, here it is again, unexpectedly thumping against you after four years, following the rhythm of the music surrounding you. Javi's warm as he tentatively rests his head against yours, and you feel his fingers flex around your hip. A mixture of his cologne and cigarettes invades your senses, and you can do nothing but ride the nostalgia wave until the song ends.

You pry yourself from Javi to turn and applaud the saxophonist, and he gives a gracious bow. Javi looks a little disappointed that the song is over but drops a ten-dollar bill in the saxophone case anyway.

"Didn't take you for a dancer." You say as you walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, and he shrugs.

"'M full of secrets now."

"I guess so," you say. You start walking toward your apartment, suddenly too cold and tired now that you're a little more sober. Javi follows, putting himself between you and the street and grazing your lower back whenever you cross the road. He's always been protective of you, even before you started dating. It makes sense he would still be, right? You're trying to make sense of the muddled mess in your head when Javi pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket, and you eye them. You must not be as discrete as you thought you were because he laughs at you.

"For someone who quit smoking, you look like you want a cigarette." He says, offering the pack to you, and you sigh. You take one from the middle and put it between your lips. Javi is quick with his lighter, and you lean into him just a little as you inhale. He watches your every movement like he's watching a miracle unfold before him.

You hate to admit how good the smoke feels in your lungs. After three years of not even looking at a cigarette, all it took was an offer and a quick puff, and you're back to the beginning. You'll start again tomorrow.

"Don't tell Harry." You say as you blow smoke away from him, and Javi laughs.

"What? He doesn't like you smoking?" He asks, looking for a reason not to like Harry, and you chuckle.

"It's not that. I've just heard one too many horror stories about a stray cigarette starting a fire." You say, and he hums.

"Is that why you quit?"

"Kinda. I also…" you start but then shake your head. "Never mind."

"What? Now you have to say it."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me." He says, and you inhale deeply, blowing smoke out of your nose. You think about telling him to leave it alone, but the alcohol and the pain in your chest tells you to say fuck it.

"I quit because it reminded me of you." You admit. He gets quiet. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks up at the stars as you silently spiral. You feel like you need two more cigarettes and a shot of tequila.

Javi has always had a special talent for making all your worst habits bubble to the surface.

"You're right, I don't like that." He says softly, and you nod. You walk a few blocks in silence. The only sounds are your shoes clicking against the pavement and the tiny crackling of your cigarette as you smoke. A siren blares somewhere in the city, and your stomach drops. It always does, but especially now.

Your fiancé is out there, putting his life on the line to save others because that's how good of a man he is, and you're getting drunk and slow-dancing with the man who broke your heart? You didn't even tell him it was Javi. What if something happens to him tonight, and you're out? What if you miss the phone call? Guilt gnaws at your throat like an angry dog, and you feel like throwing up. You swallow hard and stomp out your cigarette before it can get to the filter.

"I'm glad we did this," you say, trying to get things back on track. Javi gives you a weak smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You know, Harry said there's a place for you at the wedding if you want it. I know you'll be back in Texas, but it could be fun. We'd love to have you," you say, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He says. You knew he'd say no, but it still stings.

"Just thought I'd ask." You say, and he nods. You're about two blocks away from your apartment, and you start fishing for your keys out of your purse when Javi stops. You keep walking, thinking he's going to finish his cigarette and pull out another one.

"Don't marry him." He says, just loud enough for you to hear, and ice floods your veins. Whatever alcohol left in your system seems to vanish, and you freeze.

"What?" You ask as you slowly turn around. Javi chews on his bottom lip and stares at you.

"Don't marry him," he says again. Something behind his eyes is familiar, and suddenly, you're the girl he couldn't leave Colombia for again. Tears prick in your eyes, and you shake your head. "You'll get bored in a few years, and you'll be stuck if you marry him."

"I love him."

"I love you."

"Stop," you mumble. He takes a step forward and cradles your face in his hands, tilting you up to look at him, and your jaw tightens. You wonder if he can feel it. "You don't love me."

"I do. I always have. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, but I'm here now. We can start over. I'll move to D.C.. I'll do whatever." He says in one breath like he's afraid he'll lose the courage to say the words out loud.

"It's too late." You say, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. We can go tonight. Anywhere you want. I-"

"You let me leave," you cut him off, years of frustration and heartbreak coming back up to the surface as you take his hands off your face. "I was drowning and you let me get on the fucking plane."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to reject the position in Cali and come with me because I really thought you could at least try to love me more than your job."

"I couldn't just give the Cali position up." He says and you scoff and take a few steps away from him.

"But you could give me up," you say, throwing your arms up in defeat. "That's not love, Javi. That's having someone around to play with and throwing them out when you get bored."

"It wasn't like that."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Do you remember when Carillo died?" He asks and you take a deep breath before nodding.

Most of your memories of Colombia are muddled, but not that day. You were pissed Messina wouldn't let you go, but you were fine to let the Colombian police make the raid. Javi and Steve were anxious. You remember watching them stand next to the radio like guards and trying to guess what was going on in their heads. Javi's gaze lingered on you a few too many times to be an accident, and he smiled fondly at you. You joked about them paying for the drinks you'd have later to celebrate. Things felt stable enough for you to sit down next to Messina. You were halfway through a cigarette when the gunfire chattered over the radios.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a fucking massacre.

They never stood a chance. The scene was horrendous. Hearing Messina call Mrs. Carillo to tell her what happened was worse. Steve, somehow, was able to go with Carillo, so he wasn't alone in transport back to Bogotá. You and Javi were the cowards who went back and drank until you stopped seeing the pile of bodies you felt responsible for.

Javi put his fist through the wall of his apartment when he got home that night. You wanted to cry but knew that if you started, you'd never stop and who were you to be crying? People had just lost their sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers on your orders. You didn't deserve to cry. It was the beginning of the end for you and Javi, but you clung to your idea of the future so hard, it had claw marks on it when you finally let it go and got on the plane.

So, yeah, you remember. You remember it all.

"I couldn't let that happen to you or anyone else ever again. It would kill me," he says. You're about to tell him it's not his fault, and it never was. It was shitty intel. It was a trap. It was a lot of things, but it wasn't his fault. That might be the only thing you can say for sure about that tragedy. "So, I put everything that wasn't work out of my mind and made bad decisions, and that's on me, but I never stopped loving you or believing in our future."

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?"

"I didn't know how. You were so…" He searches for the right word. "Sure. You knew you didn't want to go to Cali, and I couldn't make you stay."

"I would've if you said the word," you say. "Even though I was miserable in Colombia, I would've come back if you asked me to because that's how much I loved you. Even if you'd just called me after I got here, we probably could've worked something out, but I'm marrying the love of my life in less than sixty days. And I've never had to beg him to stay with me or give him an ultimatum and question if he loves me because he wakes up every day and shows me how much he wants to be with me. I can't walk away from that."

"Does he know what you did down there?"

"Of course, he does." You say, annoyance buzzing in your molars, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Does he know everything?"

"You mean, does he know I've killed people?" You ask. "Yeah, it was super fun trying to explain that to him. You want to hear about how I hyperventilated through the whole thing, or do you want to ask me another question to try to undermine my relationship?" He purses his lips and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fuck you, Javier." You spit. You don't know the last time you used his full name like that. Something about it feels wrong and makes your skin crawl. "You left one girl at the altar over a decade ago, and you think you know about marriage?"

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is you coming here and making me feel like the bad guy for moving on. I deserve to be happy. I've worked, and I've cried, and I've fucking killed for it, and the second I feel like things are going my way, you do this!" You yell.

"I love you." He says again, like it'll change anything. The pressure behind your eyes returns, and you turn away from him, but he catches your wrist before you can. "Listen to me. I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeats over and over again, but all you hear is, "I love you, but I can't come with you." "I love you, but I need this." "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

You rip out of his grasp and punch at his chest with tears slipping down your face. He takes it, still saying that he loves you, and for some reason that hurts more. You push him hard and watch him stumble back, his brown eyes tracking the tears down your face.

"If you really love me-"

"I do." He cuts you off and you take a stuttering breath.

"Then, let me be happy," you beg. "Let me go. Please. If you love me, you'll do that for me."

You feel pathetic, standing there crying like he shattered your heart all over again as he just stares at you and thinks. You want to go home. You want this to end. You want to never see him again.

Maybe in twenty years, you could stand to face him again. You'll be happily married, and you hope he'll be, too. You'll have a few kids, and you'll tell stories about them and Harry will pull pictures of them out of his wallet. You won't hurt anymore. Maybe when your daughter goes through her first heartbreak, you'll find the courage to tell her about Javi. Maybe all this grief will be worth something someday. You want it to.

But right now, you're just the girl he didn't love enough to leave Colombia for, and he's not the man you love enough to marry.

He clears his throat, his own tears glistening in his waterline, and nods.

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll tell Stoddard I had a family emergency or something back home. Get the first flight back." Your eyes flutter shut at his words, and you try to keep yourself from crying more.

"Thank you." You say.

"I love you." He says again, and you open your eyes. He's grinding his teeth again, and his hands are in his pockets as if he's forcing himself not to reach for you. You give him a small smile and nod.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry."

Just as you did at the airport all those years ago, you stand awkwardly far apart, unsure of what to do now. He waits for you to change your mind. You won't. He'll get on the plane, and that'll be it.

He nods to himself one more time before turning to walk away.

"You do deserve to be happy. I've never doubted that. I wish I could've given that to you." He says like he's trying to convince you he's a good person. You sniffle and spin your ring around your finger.

"You did for a while. It's just Harry's turn to do that now," you say. "Goodbye, Javi." He opens his mouth like he's going to say goodbye or something else, but you turn your back to him and start walking toward your apartment before he can.

You figure, after everything, it's only fair that you get the last word.

You didn't sleep. You knew you wouldn't. Astro seems to sense your anxiety and cuddles into your chest, purring loudly to try and drown out your thoughts. You reassure her you're okay and kiss her head as the inky blue sky is replaced by a stunning pink and purple morning.

A good omen, you hope.

You force yourself to get up and get ready for the day. It's Saturday and a fire station breakfast day. It's never anything fancy: donuts picked up from a nearby cafe, greasy fast food breakfast, sometimes cold pizza. Today, you walk to a nearby bodega and pick up his favorite breakfast sandwich with two steaming cups of coffee before walking to the fire station.

It's cold, and D.C. hasn't quite woken up yet. It'll be a few hours before life returns as people sleep off hangovers or long weeks. That's okay. This morning is just for you.

The garage door is wide open when you get to the station, and Harry is perched on the back bumper with the firehouse dog, Maisie, whispering things to her. He looks tired. You don't think you look any better, but he still lights up when he sees you, and Maisie even starts wagging her tail.

"Hey there, stranger," you greet him as he pulls you closer and smirks up at you. "You have a good night?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now that you're here." He says. You would normally roll your eyes at his cheesiness but your chest fills with warmth instead. You lean down and kiss him. He smells like smoke but tastes like the chapstick you make him wear because of the heat. Maisie sniffs at the bag in your hand, and you laugh against his lips when she licks your arm.

"I think she's jealous." You say, and he sucks his teeth as he looks at Maisie.

"You have breakfast, you little terrorist." He reminds her but he immediately folds when she gives him that innocent look. "She can have one piece of bacon, but that's it. We need you trim to get up in the trucks, right?"

You pull a piece of bacon off one of the breakfast sandwiches and make her sit and shake before you give it to her. She crunches on it happily, knowing she's absolutely spoiled rotten. She makes space for you to sit next to Harry on the truck and you rest your head on his shoulder. "You okay?" He asks as he kisses your hairline, and you nod.

"Just missed you," you say. "I couldn't sleep last night." He makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around your shoulder to tuck you further into his side.

"Were you thinking about Colombia?" He asks and you hum. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. You wanna hear about why our kids will never be allowed to buy candles ever? No matter how old they get or how much smarter they think they are than us?" He changes the subject easily, and you laugh despite the pain still radiating in your body. You know he'll be there when you're ready to tell him about last night, no matter how long it takes you, and you will tell him. Eventually.

"Hit me with it." You say as you unpack your breakfast sandwiches and pass him his coffee. Maisie wags her tail as you alternate between sneaking her treats and listening to Harry's story. He knows you're giving her extra snacks but won't ever stop you.

You sit there on the back of that dirty firetruck, talking and watching the sunrise together and debating on which version of white the napkins at your wedding should be— eggshell or cream— and know you'd do everything all over again if it meant this was the outcome. You love him with everything that you are and ever could be.

And as you eat your breakfast and soak up each other's presence, you find yourself hoping Javi could love someone like this someday. You believe he has it in him. You've seen it. Whoever ends up being the one to tie Javier Peña down will be lucky and loved.

It just wasn't meant to be you.

#tightjeansjavijunewritingchallenge #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier pena imagine #javier pena one shot #javier pena angst #javi peña #javi p x reader #javi p fic #pedro pascal

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morbidology · 4 months ago

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This photograph depicts the last moments of 14-year-old Regina Walters, before she was killed by serial killer, Robert Ben Rhoades, who preyed on young women in America in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Regina Walters was a teenager from Pasadena, Texas, who disappeared in February 1990. She had run away from home with her boyfriend, Ricky Lee Jones, hoping for a new life away from the challenges of adolescence. The two embarked on what they likely thought would be an adventure, hitchhiking their way across the country. Tragically, their journey was cut short when they encountered Robert Ben Rhoades, a long-haul trucker with a penchant for violence and cruelty.

Rhoades, who would later be dubbed "The Truck Stop Killer," was a predator who used his job as a truck driver to hunt for victims along the highways of the United States. He had outfitted his truck with a "torture chamber" in the sleeper cab, where he would imprison and torture his victims before ultimately murdering them. Regina and Ricky Lee Jones became two of the many victims in his gruesome spree.

Rhoades abducted the young couple in Texas, killing Ricky almost immediately and disposing of his body, which was later discovered in Mississippi. Regina, however, was not granted a quick death. Instead, she was subjected to Rhoades' depraved cruelty, held captive in his truck for an extended period.

The photograph of Regina Walters, taken by Rhoades, serves as a grim document of her final days. In it, her fear is palpable, and the bleak surroundings underscore the hopelessness of her situation. Rhoades had forced her into the black dress and heels, mocking her helplessness as he snapped the photo in an abandoned barn in Illinois, where he would eventually end her life.

Regina’s body was discovered in September 1990, months after her disappearance, near a desolate rural road in Illinois. Her remains were so decomposed that identification was initially difficult. However, the discovery of the photograph in Rhoades' possession, along with other evidence, eventually led to the confirmation of her identity.

Rhoades' capture in April 1990 came about by chance when an Arizona state trooper pulled him over for a routine traffic stop. The officer discovered a terrified and chained woman in the back of Rhoades' truck, leading to his arrest. Further investigation revealed the true extent of his crimes, and authorities linked him to multiple murders across several states.

Rhoades was eventually convicted of three murders, including that of Regina Walters, but it is widely believed that he was responsible for many more deaths. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

#Regina Walters #True Crime #Serial Killer

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rae2velaris · 13 days ago

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2024 Was a Great Year for Elriels

The end of the year is approaching, and unfortunately, there's no announcement yet, but Elriels definitely have plenty to be grateful for this year.

On the contrary... (Quick rant...I'm allowed one a year)

The other side has enjoyed complaining and discrediting articles and large companies commenting on Elriel...

Why?

I suppose it's because their side of the fandom has nothing new to talk about with their ships?

All they have are:

Commissioned art pieces paid for by themselves (great for the artists and Elriels do commissioned pieces to so... touche)

Screen Rant articles. This website is a way for free lance writers to make some money. Honestly, if you want to dive into them, go ahead, but these article centralize on the writers' opinions and click bait/SEO. And no, I'm not going to hunt down these writers' information to discredit. People are allowed to have their opinions and make money however way they want. Just at least take a moment to look at the titles for Screen Rant articles vs. TIME, TODAY, and E! News. You'll see a difference going forward in this post.

Additonal unnecsssary "official" weeks/ "spontaneous" days for ships and characters due to the belief that Elriel fans ruin everything

Anyways, let's dive into this year's pro Elriel content ❤️

January 30th, 2024

TIME- Time magazine is a widely cited resource and maintains high standards of journalism. In this particular article, only Elain and Azriel are mentioned as a possibility for the next ACOTAR book.

January 30th, 2024

TODAY Show- A sit-down interview with SJM. (This particular part of the interview I condensed together on Canva because of the limited pictures we can include on Tumblr) Below, Sarah talks about fate, the idea of exploring rejecting mates, and free will. (Lucien and Elain?) She also discusses her characters ending up with someone who offers growth and joy. (Azriel and Elain?) SJM can't tell us in black and white that she's doing this, but COME ON people. There's a reason she discusses it.

Oh, and the TODAY show decided to like/comment on Elriel comments ONLY.

Side Note: If interested, take a look at this tumblr post for a lovely, thorough breakdown. ( @courtofblooming )

April 19th, 2024

Guilty As Sin Instagram Story from SJM- Sarah loves her little crumbs, and this song honestly encapulates Elriel. We unfortunately don't get confirmation from SJM, but I'll include some of the lyrics for you to judge.

This cage was once just fine

Am I allowed to cry?

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

He's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh

Only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

What makes it even better? Audible and Spotify commented ONLY on Elriel posts in relation to this song. You won't find these particular companies commenting on any other ships of the fandom.

Side Note: The other side of the fandom tries to discredit these influential companies by stating the person behind the account doesn't represent the whole company or just enjoy saying the companies comments aren't credible. Multi-million dollar companies are NOT going to waste their time and reputation on fanon created ships. These companies are business smart and only invest in what's profitable. There's a reason they make millions...ELRIEL is profitable due to canon evidence. Simple as that.

December 2nd, 2024

Bloomsbury and SJMaas Updates announce that the audiobooks are now available on Spotify- Bloomsbury, SJM Updates, and Spotify are in close collaboration with each other. Makes those Spotify Elriel comments even more satisfying. ❤️

December 9th, 2024

SJM 2024 Author of the Year Spotify Video- Although we got little news for the coming spring about audible books, us as a fandom had a lovely time dissecting the video. Yet again, Spotify only commented on Elriel comments.

Side Note: Take a look at these tumblr posts for an inciteful look into the significance of tea cups/Elain ( @offtorivendell ) and an excellent interpretation of the Spotify video. ( @wingedblooms )

December 13th, 2024

E News!- I know this particular article has ruffled some feathers, but it's entertaining none the less! Gotta love the nod to Azriel's wingspan. IYKYK (And yes, it's credible... it's owned by NBC Universal... the same company that owns TODAY and 33% stakes of Hulu through Comcast (Comcast owns NBC Universal, and the stakes are through NBC Universal). I only add Hulu due to the ACOTAR TV series being developed through Hulu.)

December 17th, 2024

Goodreads- This is just a little star on top of the tree, but it's great to know that ACOFAS made it into the top 10 most read overall books this year. (Interesting how ACOSF didn't make it...) Notably, ACOFAS is the bridge for future spin-offs. (Also interesting how a particular character isn't seen in ACOFAS...)

(ACOFAS pictures taken from @psychologynerd post linked below)

In Conclusion...

As an Elriel, I've truly appreciated the continuous confirmations for Azriel and Elain for the future ACOTAR 5 book in small, simple ways. Even better knowing that Spotify and Audible have outwardly commented on ONLY Elriel posts.

As the year 2024 ends, I'll treasure these little nuggets of positivity until the announcement day! I have a feeling 2025 will hold some excellent news for the fandom. Until then, have a wonderful holiday season and a Happy New Year!

P.S.

If you know of anymore pro Elriel content from this year, by all means, write a comment. 🥰

#elriel #elain x azriel #pro elriel #elriel supremacy #azriel and elain #acotar #elain acotar #elain archeron #azriel acotar #pro elain #acofas

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elumish · 7 months ago

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My Experience With Digital-First Royalty-Only Publishing (Part 1)

Disclaimer: this is just my experience and my not reflect everyone's experience with this story of publishing.

The Concept:

The are two major distinct components of this sort of publishing: that it's digital first and royalty only. Digital first means that their primary business model is based in selling ebooks rather than physical boks. They don't sell in brick-and-mortar stores, but for my publisher, at least, you can buy physical copies of the books, which are made to order. Royalty only means that authors aren't paid an advance for the book. Instead, all of their payment is directly from royalties, which they start getting paid immediately (as opposed to needing to earn the advance before you get paid any royalties). Generally, these royalties are higher than for traditional publishers.

This is considered indie publishing, as opposed to traditional publishing through one of the Big Five (Penguin Random House, Hachette, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan). I have basically only seen this for romance publishers, though there may be others that I haven't seen.

This is not vanity publishing--I don't pay my publisher, they pay me.

My Publishing Story:

In 2023, I wrote 10k words of a new story in three days, mostly on my phone. After a bit of random internet hunting, I decided to send it in to the publisher with a series plan for another three short pieces (10-15k words) that would together make one full story. A couple months later, they responded and asked if I would make it a full novel and also write another two in the same series. I agreed.

In April 2024, the book was released.

The Submission Process:

A number of digital first romance publishers (including those that give advances, like Harlequin) accept both agented and unagented submissions. That means that you don't need to already have an agent to submit to them, as opposed to most more traditional publishing companies, which only accept agented submissions.

Pro: lower barrier to entry, you get to avoid the querying process

Con: you have to advocate for yourself

Every publisher has a different submission process and different guidelines--some have broad word/topic guidelines and anything within that is fair game, some have specific calls for stories (e.g., we want stories of 30-80k words about billionaires), some have specific imprints or subgenres with different guidelines (e.g., historical romance for 50-80k words, fantasy romance for 60-100k words).

Generally they also request a summary, an equivalent of a query letter, and sometimes also some verion of a series plan.

The Contract:

Probably my biggest issue with working with this publisher was the contract. After a bunch of back and forth after they sent me the contract, they told me that they don't negotiate their contracts with unagented authors.

This is a sort of nuts line to draw, and to be totally honest I almost decided not to publish with them because of it. It would be totally reasonable for you to not publish with anyone who has that policy.

Ultimately, I decided to still publish with them for three reasons: 1) I did a lot of internet sleuthing and couldn't find anyone talking about issues with working with the publisher any time in the last decade, 2) I was comfortable enough with the contract terms to agree to them, and 3) the book is a niche enough subgenre that there's basically no chance I would get it published elsewhere.

If it was a different book or I was in a different stage in my career, I might have made a different decision.

Editing:

The editing I received was primarily copyediting rather than developmental editing. There was a little bit of developmental editing, but the vast majority was copyediting. I'm not so arrogant as to think that that's because my writing is just so perfect that it didn't need developmental editing.

There were ~3 rounds of editing that I went through with my editor. She would make a combination of edits in track changes and comments, and i would either accept, reject, or change. There were some things I rejected because they were intentional stylistic choices, and there were some things I accepted even if I didn't love them because they were part of the publisher's style guide. Everything else was a negotiation.

Overall, I didn't give in to something that I hated, and I don't think my writing suffered for the editing. There are choices that I wouldn't have made, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm right.

Part 2 will include marketing, payment, and my path forward in publishing

#publishing #indie publishing

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graciereadshannigram · 2 months ago

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hey fam, welcome to the October round up of all my favorite fics i read this month!!

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March April May June July August September

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

without further ado, let's go!

Mine to Touch by piginapoketuesday

Word Count: 14193 Summary: "You respond so well to hand feeding," Hannibal said, watching Will's hips squirm. "I'm considering binding you for every meal."Will's neck flushed with fear. Never being allowed to feed himself again. Learning to associate food with a swollen, untouched cock. Swallowing prettily and on command. His body betrayed him, and he moaned around the fork in his mouth.~Lots of constant stimulation, feeding kink, and orgasm denial. Also lots of love and care.

So I might have a handfeeding kink. Possibly. Who's to say?

A Game for Two by sourweather

Word Count: 7710 Summary: One Long Game. That's what their relationship has always been. And the game never seems to end, which suits them just fine.Some unhinged murder husband content for the soul

Pretty much anything from this author ends up getting a five star rating, and this one was no exception.

Focus and Curiosity by hesterbyrde

Word Count: 7029 Summary: If someone had told Will two months ago that he would wind up regularly sleeping with his psychiatrist, he would have laughed in their face. Not just once, but twice. First for the absurdity of the idea in general. Just the thought of someone carrying on a sexual relationship with their therapist was ridiculous. Never mind that it would also be wildly unethical and illegal. But then he would also laugh at the sheer thought of having a psychiatrist in the first place. He'd avoided them like the plague all his adult life, and largely succeeded save the required eval after he'd been stabbed in the line of duty back when he was a cop. Needless to say that hadn't gone well.But this arrangement with Hannibal Lecter was going very well, strangely enough. Hannibal seemed content to let Will steer the course of his therapy. When Will didn't feel like talking, Hannibal would keep the conversation superficial. Or they would talk about whatever case Will was currently working on for Jack. And when Will did feel like talking, he had to admit some of Hannibal's insights into the quandary of his personality were actually enlightening. And it didn't hurt that the sex was amazing.

THIS BETTER NOT AWAKEN ANYTHING IN ME. Deadass, this inspired me to upgrade my own nipple clamps, so. Do with that information what you will.

Quiet Asphodel by FKAHerSweetness

Word Count: 174475 Summary: Once upon a time, there was a great and just king. This king, long ago, adopted a son and groomed the young prince to hunt monsters that roamed the kingdom. One day, the prince comes upon a monster of wild proportions, both fierce and courteous. The prince vows to the monster: 'I will capture you, as my father bids me.' The monster makes his own vow to the prince: 'I will wed you, as my heart bids me.'

Holy fucking shit. Once again, a deeply uncomfortable and awesome read. Again, nobody is good in this fic. But with my whole chest, FUCK Jack Crawford.

Much Ado About Knotting by l3moncoffee

Word Count: 3352 Summary: “We have a warrant to search the premises!”“Surely you could have knocked,” Hannibal Lecter said, wrapping a protective arm around his Omega.—————————————————— The FBI & Baltimore City Homicide have their sights on the Lecters, a bonded Alpha-Omega pair suspected of torturing and cannibalizing their victims.A strike team is assembled to catch them red-handed, but they run into some unexpected knots along the way.

I need more of this. STAT.

Heart's Desire by Celinesits

Word Count: 34514 Summary: COMPLETEWhat if Hannibal Lecter was given a Love Potion that led him straight to Will Graham? Spending two weeks with your Heart’s Desire is a dream come true.Meanwhile, Will Graham is fulfilling his public duty by staying with Hannibal, but being smothered in affection forces Will to confront his increasingly confused feelings for Doctor Lecter. Thank you if you have supported this story- kudos and comments/bookmarks are so kind x ❤️Based on the characters created by Thomas Harris, and Hannibal TV show creator Bryan Fuller.

I loved how well this was executed, enough that I can forgive the very brief overlap with HP/FBWTFT. Also, very in character Hannibal.

double by YouAreMyDesign

Word Count: 3961 Summary: It took a long time before Will grew from actively fighting these gifts, to resigned acceptance, to eager anticipation. It's just one of those things that comes with dating Hannibal Lecter; gifts are a given. And Hannibal, he soon realized, loves seeing Will in things he's bought.

We see dom Will Graham and we black out.

Patience and Precision by hesterbyrde

Word Count: 6253 Summary: Will drove himself straight from the crime scene to Hannibal's house. He wasn't even halfway up the porch steps when the door cracked open to reveal Hannibal's chiseled face, his features all the sharper with lines of confusion and concern."Will, I wasn't expecting you. Is everything alright?" he asked, pulling the door open to allow Will inside.Will took in the sight for a moment, making a slow fuss of taking off his coat and brushing his shoes on the mat. Hannibal was not in a suit. Not even in casual wear. Rather he was wearing a pair of soft grey lounge pants and a cable knit red sweater. Will had the sudden urge to press his face into the fabric and see if the crimson yarn was as soft as it looked.

Nipple clamps are my kryptonite.

pick up your phone by abbymyg

Word Count: 1404 Summary: Alana calls Will at an inopportune time.

A reread!! I love this one so much.

Recognition by StratsWrote

Word Count: 3910 Summary: The video was simple, a man sat in a high-back chair with his legs spread and his hand between them. He had a magnificent cock, uncut, red, thick. Will loved that cock. He worshipped it in his mind. And watching it now, Will groaned in pleasure, sinking deeper into the bed with his own hand stroking himself. Will has a certain porn actor he's a fan of. He's never seen his face, but he knows every breath and groan and whimper he makes. When he meets Dr. Lecter, a consultant on the Shrike case, Will doesn't find him particularly interesting until in the midst of saving a life, he hears the same sighs and hums he's pleasured himself to coming from the doctor next to him.

Oh ideal. This was so hot.

Housekeeping by FKAHerSweetness

Word Count: 96562 Summary: Marriage is a creature living separate from its components. Yet it requires attention, tolerance and care. Have you seen it? Could you recognize its deep wounds - and which one of you inflicted them? And are they ready to heal? What do you really know about this illusory animal?

Holy shit. When I say this fic got under my skin in the best way possible, I truly mean that. Will is terrible. Honestly, so is Chilton. Hannibal is also not great. This is a story about not great people, but like a car crash, I simply couldn't look away. I love erotic psychological horror and this was ticking all of the boxes for me.

The Accident by TigerPrawn

Word Count: 1369 Summary: Sharing a bed results in unexpected intimacy.

And there was only one bed!!! I love.

Moth to the Flame by hannibae

Word Count: 4324 Summary: Will breathes out a laugh, arching his back in surprise when Hannibal presses the dry pad of a finger over his hole. “Nah,” he lets out, shaky and unsure, “I’ve been high before, but I’ve never—God, everything you do is perfect, isn’t it? Are you bad at anything?” It all feels too nice, Hannibal’s body solid and perfect against his own, his hands squeezing and kneading his flesh, his hips working up against Will’s own. It’s exactly how it shouldn’t be with Hannibal.

stoned Hannigram is absolutely delightful, this was so fucking HOT.

The Strangest Thing by foggys_cupcake_girl

Word Count: 3562 Summary: Will Graham is used to coming home and seeing his husband doing odd things, but he's never come home to find him with his head in a bag of Cheetos, with his hand down the toilet, or lying bare-naked in the living room after a shower.Or, that one where Hannibal tries to do a nice thing and ends up in way, WAY over his head.

STONED HANNIGRAM IS ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL.

Remember Me, I Ask by HigherMagic

Word Count: 10795 Summary: "Part of me was worried you were dead."It's not what he expected to hear, and Will's throat goes tight. The sheath of it is slicked with honey and afterburn, and his fingers flex on the arms of the chair. "You didn't used to let fear of consequences affect you," he replies."Until you."Settled into his life with Duncan, Will is ready to leave everything behind. Until Hannibal breaks out of prison. Will knows his time is limited.

This felt very in character, and was also hot as fuck.

Healthy Curiosity by orphan_account

Word Count: 1267 Summary: Restless, Abigail sneaks off to her fathers' bedroom in the middle of the night seeking comfort. She instead puts some of her curiosities to rest.

Fuck me, I do love voyeurism.

Teach Me a Lesson (Already Learned) by whenitstarted

Word Count: 3142 Summary: Will being married to Molly and cheating on her with Hannibal.

A reread that is still fabulous.

the leather runs smooth by drpeaceandlove

Word Count: 4960 Summary: "Are you... encouraging me to sleep with Molly?" Will kept his intent gaze trained upon Hannibal's face, finding that - even through his abilities to empathise with others - he could not discern anything wrong about Hannibal's current demeanour.A feline grin unfurled upon Hannibal's lips and he let out a faint exhalation of amusement, capturing Will's lips in yet another kiss."I am merely advising you, my dear." Hannibal insisted - something Will did not at all believe - and brought his hand back, much to Will's dismay. That disappointment was short-lived, however, when Hannibal began unbuckling the leather belt looped through Will's jeans. "Now, shall we begin our session?"----Or, Hannibal and Will are interrupted by a call during one of their therapy sessions.

Anything involving being railed while on a phone call is gonna make me INCREDIBLY happy.

All the Things that Make a Sound by sourweather

Word Count: 3330 Summary: Hannibal gets an unexpected call from Will while he's in prison. They don't speak, Will just wants Hannibal to listen.

Will calling Hannibal while Hanni's in prison to make him listen while Will fucks Molly? Amazing. Wish I could give this more than one star.

I Hope You'll Feed Me by DorianThey

Word Count: 3473 Summary: Trans!Will Graham hates getting his period, but Hannibal loves taking care of him while he’s bleeding. Especially when Will needs an endorphin boost…

This was hot. That's all.

Cuisine Euphonique by thecountessolivia

Word Count: 35321 Summary: Nightmares brought on by a gruesome case lead Will to some unorthodox therapy in the form of a YouTube cooking channel.[Completed]

So this was a reread and I'm still obsessed with it.

Instinct by solarteacup

Word Count: 5329 Summary: Hannibal took another sip of wine, then reached out with both hands to cup Will’s face. He moved slowly, intentionally. His fingers caressed from the point of Will’s chin through the coarse dark hair of his beard, fanning out to his cheeks. When his fingertips reached Will’s ears, he stopped, cradling Will’s jaw in his palms while his thumbs brushed against old scars. He smiled, eyes moving from Will’s reflective gaze down to his slightly parted lips. “Instinct is nothing more than lessons learned and skills acquired over millions of years of self-preservation. Genetic patterns built to keep us alive without thinking. Legs to run or kick, arms to climb or scratch…” “And mouths to bite?” Will spoke low, eyes darting across Hannibal’s, unsure where to settle his gaze. Hannibal hummed. “The mouth serves many, many purposes." ______________ aka Hannibal gives Will anatomy lessons on what he and his mouth were built for.

Oh dear. I fear this has awoken something in me.

it’s only a matter of time before we all burn by madeofbees

Word Count: 11963 Summary: help, please voice cracking 2:13am blinking the world on and off. The flashing he couldn’t trust the time a power outage a will outage he needed to check his phone couldn’t tolerate hannibal away from his ear what do you need will heavy with sleep composed and solid propping will up keeping him from flying apart, shattering like a fragile teacupi need you to make it stop—will has a panic attack, hannibal fixes it

THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AND SO FREAKIN' HOT.

you are the shower of light i devour by madeofbees

Word Count: 26255 Summary: Will has spent his life on suppressants, living as a beta, repressing as much of his sexuality as he can. It’s easier, raises fewer questions. But suppressants only work so well for so long, and chronic overuse only makes the eventual heat worse. Still, he rests easy knowing that he’s perceived as a beta, and therefore is safe.Until his psychiatrist casually mentions it’s been a while since his last heat, and does he require any assistance?Yes, actually. He does.—Almost exclusively smut, with a dash of trauma!angst, heavily seasoned with obliviously and incorrectly assumed one-sided feels.

I do adore a good chronic overuse of suppressants leads to an intense heat trope.

looked up at the sky and it was maroon by madeofbees

Word Count: 15852 Summary: Will accidentally sends Hannibal a dick pic and Hannibal loses his shit. That’s it that’s the story.eta: now with edits!

i LOVE Hannibal nearly setting his home on fire because of a dick pic from Will. absolutely amazing, 10/10.

Doctor Lecter’s Fabulously Buff Investigator by TheSilverQueen

Word Count: 5625 Summary: Online conferences due to the quarantine are how Doctor Lecter's colleagues learn that: 1) Doctor Lecter has a beautiful home; 2) Doctor Lecter is married; and 3) Doctor Lecter's husband is fabulously buff.

This was very silly and I loved it.

I Only Have Eyes For You by sourweather

Word Count: 3827 Summary: Will gets so, so bored at Hannibal's dinner parties. But they're dating, so he can't exactly say no. So one night, he decides to have some fun, and tries to make Hannibal jealous by flirting with one of the guests. It doesn't go how Will expected.

Another re-read, another one that's still incredible.

Caught in the Act by UndeadRobby

Word Count: 2829 Summary: A collection of oneshots where Hannibal and Will get caught in... compromising positions.

Amazing.

Will Graham's Unconventional Health Care Proxy by UndeadRobby

Word Count: 3383 Summary: "It appears our dear friend Will Graham was in an accident, and is currently unconscious at Johns Hopkins. They needed someone to consent to continued treatment on his behalf, now that they have completed the actively life-saving treatment.”Frederick blinks. “And… he listed you as his healthcare proxy? Not, oh, I don’t know, his wife? Jack Crawford? Alana Bloom? A dog?”

Hannibal being Will's healthcare proxy and rubbing it in everyone else's face is hysterical and I loved it.

Like a Room Without a Roof by halotolerant

Word Count: 52881 Summary: Will is an awkward, single Submissive who has to get a temporary partner so he can pass an Alignment Health Assessment for his job. Hannibal is a Dom agreeable to low-level ‘sessions’ in which no sex or feelings will get involved.None of that works out quite to plan.

This was such a fun take on a BDSM AU!!

Make the world go quiet - sensory deprivation by Incidentsofunknownorigins

Word Count: 6071 Summary: Back in America 4th of July weekend,Will is triggered by fireworks and past trauma, Hannibal finds a way to distract him.

Trauma response mitigated by sex? Say less. Also written by a friend!

Hummingbird by sourweather

Word Count: 5416 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been seeing each other for a few months. They're keeping things pretty casual, sneaking around behind closed doors. Until Will finds out he's pregnant with Hannibal's baby.

This was fluffy goodness.

Pupping Season. by TheDarkestMindWithin

Word Count: 2377 Summary: Will's ready for pups, Hannibal remains adamant he is not.

This is exactly what I want out of a non-con scenario, holy SHIT. This was also a reread.

Captive by sixtieshairdo

Word Count: 1436 Summary: “What would Franklyn do if he saw you like this?” He relishes the way he can feel Hannibal’s cock twitch inside him whenever he clenches around him just a little tighter. “What would Jack do if he saw you like this?” The thought that Jack would disapprove of his relationship with Hannibal only makes Will spread his thighs wider, fucking down onto Hannibal’s cock faster, mind-drunk on how he can hear the sounds of his ass cheeks clapping. He’s fully naked, the way Hannibal likes him to be, and Hannibal’s mostly dressed – except for his pants around his knees – the way Will likes him to be. He can’t imagine what his sweaty knees are doing to the leather under him, but he knows Hannibal wouldn’t hesitate to keep the desecrated furniture in his office as evidence of their sordid affairs.

Fake relationship? Featuring a jealous Franklyn?? Catnip.

Hanni's Boy by Ishxallxgood

Word Count: 4648 Summary: Franklyn Froideveaux falls in love at first sight with none other than our friendly neighborhood empath. The only problem is, the object of his affections already has a partner. What is a man to do? Stalk the shit out of and emulate said partner of course. And it doesn't hurt that the man's partner just so happens to be Franklyn's very own psychiatrist Doctor Hannibal Lecter.Pure crack inspired by Jessie's Girl

This was so perfect, everything I wanted.

Savor You by Murder_Cupcake

Word Count: 585 Summary: Hannibal wants to pleasure Will, who's pregnant, heavy and embarrassed.

This was so so so hot.

in the truly gruesome do we trust by sidnihoudini

Word Count: 9473 Summary: Hannibal and Will have murder husbands mind palace sex, and Alana watches obsessively. A slow, sneaky grin slides its way across Will’s face as he looks up at Hannibal and teases, “You enjoy being watched.” “Does a lion eat its prey while it is still alive?” Hannibal asks rhetorically, an amused quirk to his lips. He drags his elbows against the silk sheets, letting himself rest his weight on them so he can comfortably brush his fingers through Will’s curls. After a pause, he drops his head, and presses his open mouth to Will’s. He pulls back a fraction, and breathes, “Yes.” Fully smiling now, sharp and uncontrolled, Will arches up against Hannibal’s body, and asks, “Does that make me the lion, or the prey?” “You are simply part of the pride,” Hannibal murmurs.

This. Was. So. Hot.

aaaand that's a wrap for October!! have fun babes!!

#gracie reads hannigram #fic recs #hannigram fic recs #hannigram recs #hannigram #hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #mads mikkelsen #hannigram fic #nbc hannibal #hugh dancy

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violetsiren90 · 10 months ago

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Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭💕; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others. You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer.

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like.

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again.

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder.

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks. 

~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place.

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name.

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit. 

~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen. 

-Fin-

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tothewheel · 10 months ago

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fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

#fic rec #masterlist #ezra posts

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deancaspinefest · 11 months ago

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Take The Long Way Home

Author: sidewinder | Artist: caught-a-dragonfly (Sarah)

Posting on Monday April 15

Two months ago, the world didn’t end. But for Dean Winchester, who fully expected to sacrifice not just his life but his very soul in order to stop Amara? The celebration has been clouded by the disappearance of his best friend, Cas—the friend he’d started to realize meant more to him than he’d been willing to accept until now. The last anyone’s seen of Castiel was when he was banished from the bunker by Toni Bevell. The Brits swear they don’t have him. Neither Heaven nor Hell claim to know of his whereabouts. All of Dean’s calls, texts and prayers to the angel have gone unanswered, and Dean can’t help but worry that a "Winchester win" has once again come at a terrible price. One day hope finally arrives in a lead from an unexpected if not always trustworthy ally. However finding Cas might end up being only the first step in saving him—not simply from the forces holding him captive, but from the prison of his own mind.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

As Dean approached the galley, he saw the light on there already, meaning he wasn’t the only early bird up and about today. His mood brightened with a momentary spark of hope—Cas rarely slept, and when he was around the bunker, he usually enjoyed hanging around in the kitchen to read or watch cat videos and shit all night on one of their laptops. But Dean’s bubble of hope burst when he saw it was just his brother, sitting there in his sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, chugging a disgusting-looking green smoothie. Sam was no doubt ready to head out on his morning self-imposed torture session—that is, a five-mile run looping around the bunker to Lebanon and back.

Kid seriously had to be the devil’s vessel if he found that kind of physical torment enjoyable.

“Hey,” Dean grunted at his brother.

Sam looked up from his laptop at Dean and nodded. “Hey. You’re up early.”

“You too. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Rarely do.”

Yeah, that was something they had in common. “Anything up?” Dean asked on his way to fill the coffeepot with water.

“Not really. Just restless, I guess. I found a case, maybe. Not that I was looking for one,” Sam added quickly. “But while I was searching for any signs of Cas, or Lucifer, I came across a news story about some strange deaths in Wichita. It’s not far from here, and—”

“If you wanna go hunt whatever it is, go for it,” Dean cut him off. “Take mom. I know she’s itching to get out of here and do somethin’ other than stare at our ugly mugs all day.”

“Dean—”

“No, Sam. I mean it. Until I know where Cas is, I just can’t. My head’s not in the game.” A distracted hunter was a dead hunter. That was the rule their father had drilled into them as soon as they each could carry a weapon, and learn about the things that went bump in the night being real. A week ago, Dean had let Sam talk him into going on a “milk run” hunt to clear out a small vampire nest near Toledo and he’d nearly lost his neck thanks to not fully concentrating on the job at hand.

“Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?” Dean snapped. “Cas has been missing for two months, Sam! We have no idea where he is, if he even—”

Dean cut himself off. He couldn’t say it. Not out loud.

If he even survived.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Monday April 15)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: sidewinder #artist: caught-a-dragonfly (Sarah)#canon divergent #hurt!Cas #alternate season 12

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 6 months ago

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 42

The painting above is "Goodnight Hug," created by one of my favorite artists, Mary Cassatt. This piece is part of her renowned "Mother and Child" series, which includes a variety of paintings, pastels, and prints exploring the intimate and tender relationships between mothers and their children. These works are among her most celebrated and significant contributions to the art world.

Cassatt, Mary. Goodnight Hug. 1890. The New Yorker, 22 Mar. 1999, www.newyorker.com/magazine/1999/03/22/cassatts-children. Accessed June 28, 2024.

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.2K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The gentle warmth of the April sun caressed your face as you reclined on the Townhouse balcony. You had taken it upon yourself to fill every inch of open space with a plethora of plants, each one showing off its first blossoms. Your prized purple hyacinths thrived and were now in full bloom, their fragrance filling the air.

The creak of the door handle alerted you to someone's approach, but you didn't bother turning around. At this early hour, there was only one possible person - Azriel, returning from his intense training session with Cassian. His strong hands landed on your shoulders in a comforting squeeze as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Good morning," he murmured against your hair.

You turned to face him, smiling up at him. "Morning!"

Azriel settled onto the chaise lounge beside yours, still dressed in his training leathers. His ebony curls were slicked back, held in place by beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He stretched out his wings behind him, basking in the warm sunlight. With a slight lean, he unbuckled his shin pads and tossed them aside with a clatter. Then, he extended one arm towards you, silently asking for help removing his vambrace. As you carefully unlatched it, your fingers traced over the red marks left imprinted on his skin from the tight straps.

“You know, you probably don’t need to pull them that tight,” you remarked as you threw the leather straps onto the ground. Azriel flung his other arm over to you in response.

“I also don’t need them sliding down when Cassian is actively trying to stab me with a broadsword,” he quipped back with a playful smirk.

As the second piece came free in your hands, you scrunched your face in concentration and shrugged. With a clang, the brace fell to the ground as you leaned back in your chaise, closing your eyes to bask in the warm sun on your face. Azriel pulled back his arm, running his hands over the damp, sweaty skin that had been trapped by the armor. The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes before you broke it with a question.

“Good session?”

“It was fine,” Azriel responded nonchalantly.

“Anything worth noting?”

Azriel let out a slight chuckle before answering, “I’m probably going to have a nasty bruise on my back tomorrow. Cassian whacked me pretty hard with that practice sword.”

You turned your head to face him, one eye opening while the other stayed shut against the brightness of the sun. “Need me to take a look?”

Azriel shook his head, “Nothing to see. Just a red mark right now.”

“Did you hit him back?” You asked, turning back to soak up more rays.

“Oh yeah. He’ll have a bruise of his own. Probably a couple,” Azriel replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

“Well, as long as you evened the playing field,” you concluded with a smile.

The warm rays of the sun kissed your skin, drawing out a contented sigh from you. After a long and harsh winter, the people of Velaris were finally basking in the glorious sunlight. From balconies to parks to the sidewalks, everyone seemed to be seeking out its gentle embrace.

"Did you just get up?" Azriel's smooth voice interrupted your peaceful thoughts.

You shifted in your chair, feeling the ache from sitting in the same position for too long. "Probably an hour ago," you replied tiredly.

Azriel chuckled at your disheveled appearance. "An hour awake and still in your pajamas," he teased.

You shot him a glare, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips. The male was sprawled across the chaise like a lazy cat, his wings spread open behind him.

"I have nowhere to be," you retorted, turning back towards the sun.

"Laziness," Azriel playfully scolded.

"Hey now," you countered, "I see no reason to get dressed when there's no one to impress."

Azriel opened one eye and smirked at you. "You used to wear such beautiful dresses when we first got together."

"And you used to shower after training sessions before coming to see me," you reminded him with a laugh. "We've both gotten too comfortable with each other."

Azriel let out a deep chuckle from his chest. "You started it when you asked me to check on that red mark on your ass."

You scoffed, "Who else was I going to ask? You're down there often enough."

"Oh trust me," Azriel said with a sly grin, "your face-down-ass-up position is definitely a turn on for me. But when you asked me if the red dot on your butt looked infected and then made me touch it...well, let's just say I've never been more flaccid in my life."

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him. "You brought it up!" you accused, trying to imitate his deep voice. "You said, 'Hey, you have another nipple on your butt.'"

"I was just letting you know," Azriel defended himself with a chuckle. "It's not like you could see it!"

You couldn't hold back your laughter, the sound ringing out like music. "But seriously," you asked in sincerity, "did it go away?"

Azriel turned his head to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Let me see and I'll tell you," he replied with a wink.

"Oh," you raised an eyebrow, your voice taking on a playful tone, "so my body ailments are a turn on for you?"

"And just like that," Azriel sighed dramatically, "you ruined it." He leaned back and closed his eyes again, a smirk resting on his cheeks.

—

You stood in the elegant foyer of Whispering Haven, the first apartment complex you had built specifically for pleasure makers. The walls were adorned with parchment paper, filled with colorful scribbles and drawings from the children who called this place home. The front hall was a chaotic mess of abandoned toys, like a battlefield of stuffed animals and dolls. You smiled warmly as two little girls came bounding down the stairs on wooden stick horses, their laughter echoing through the space. Titania, the manager of Whispering Haven, called out to them with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Bryn and Oriel, when one of you comes tumbling down those stairs, don't come crying to me with those big tears! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t be running on those steps!"

You chuckled lightly at her words. She turned back to you, slightly out of breath as she pulled a pen out of her red bun.

"I swear those two will be the death of me. Alright, where were we?" She asked, glancing down at the book in your hands.

"So we have seven new applications for housing," you began, dragging your finger down the list. "Three of them are single mothers with young children, one is a single father with his son who just turned thirty, and the remaining three are single women."

"We ain't got the space to take on all four here right now," Titania sighed.

You furrowed your brow in thought. "Is anyone planning on moving out soon?"

She shrugged. "Meliora mentioned something about wanting to move into something more permanent on her own in the next few months, but she's been saying that since she got here."

"I could check in with Relon over at the other house," you suggested. "She might have availability to take on at least one or two."

"If the single females are willing to have roommates, I could take on two of them," Titania offered.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the book in your hands and slowly looked around the room. The realization that you had somehow made this place come to life hit you like a ton of bricks. "I'll make some inquiries," you murmured to

yourself, trying to center your thoughts. Suddenly, Titania's voice broke through your trance.

"How you doing doll?" she asked, her ruby red lips already stained with lipstick.

"What?" you replied, raising your eyebrows as you turned to face her.

She smirked at you, "I feel like I ain't seen you in a while."

You shrugged and let out a small laugh, "We see each other like three times a week."

"Yeah, but I mean actually talk to you. Not just about this stuff" She gestured to the room around you.

You smiled sheepishly at her, "I know, I know. I'm sorry."

Titania reached out and ran a bony hand down your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright, love," she said kindly. "You have time for a cuppa?" Her eyes lit up with excitement at the thought.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. In reality, you had about seven other things on your to-do list for today, but Titania was right - you had been so caught up in everything that you hadn't made time to actually see her. You followed her down the hallway and past the stairs into the large industrial-sized kitchen. With fourteen females and two males with children, as well as two single males living under one roof, the kitchen had to be massive. As you walked in, you saw Bryn and Oriel perched under the kitchen table, their stick horses tied to the counter handle as if it were a hitching post. They were giggling and playing together happily. Titania's heels clicked against the floor as she made her way to the stove, flicking on the burner and placing a kettle on top. You reached up to grab two mismatched tea cups from the cupboard. Each one was donated from a different store or restaurant in the city, but somehow it all came together to create a charming and eclectic collection. After all, no one living in the house matched each other either.

With a surge of courage, Oriel emerged from under the table and scurried over to Titania, her tiny hands tugging on the silk of her dress. Titania turned to look at her with surprise. "May I be of assistance, ma'am?" She asked incredulously.

"Could I have a snack," Oriel whispered eagerly.

Titania's eyes widened in shock. "A snack?" She exclaimed loudly. "But didn't I just feed you and Bryn lunch not even an hour ago?"

Oriel giggled mischievously, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, but I'm hungry again."

"No, no ma'am, I didn't just feed you for my own enjoyment," Titania scolded gently. "I distinctly remember you saying that you were too full to finish your sprouts."

"But now I'm hungry again," Oriel insisted, swaying back and forth on her heels and toes.

Titania rolled her eyes and placed her red tipped hands on her hips. "What am I going to do with you?" She muttered in exasperation.

Oriel simply laughed as Bryn crawled out from under the table to join her friend. "Bryn wants some too," Oriel announced proudly.

You had heard about Bryn, the nearly forty-year-old child who had never spoken a word to anyone. Some said it was because she had learned to stay quiet when her mother was soliciting males. Others believed she just couldn’t speak at all. It broke your heart to think of such a shy and isolated soul trapped in her own mind. But Oriel seemed unfazed by it all - in fact, she talked enough for both herself and Bryn. And despite their differences, Oriel was fiercely protective of Bryn. You had seen on more than one occasion Oriel straddling a boy twice her size, tiny fists wailing down on them after they had been bullying Bryn.

"Of course she does" Titania replied, looking down at the two happy, albeit dirty, faces. She glanced between them before sighing and turning to the cabinet, retrieving two wafer cookies from a jar. "Now if I give you these, will you promise to eat all of your dinner tonight?" She held the treats just out of reach from their eager hands.

The two girls nodded eagerly, bouncing up on their toes.

"I mean it, Bryn. All of your beans," Titania warned sternly. Bryn nodded in agreement. "I don't want your mothers coming to me later saying you didn't finish your dinner."

The girls promised to remember and Titania handed over the cookies with a smile. They scampered off happily as Titania called after them, "And don't go telling any of the other children that I gave you snacks. I don't want to spend the rest of my day playing snack dispenser." But the girls were already out of earshot, giggling and sharing their treats. Titania let out an exasperated sigh, her vibrant eyes rolling as she deftly plucked a wafer cookie from the plate and popped it into her mouth. She turned to face you, gracefully sinking into the plush chair across the long dining room table. The fragrance of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. Titania poured the steaming water into two waiting cups, the gentle clinking of porcelain filling the quiet room.

"So," she began, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea. "How have you been?"

You cradled your warm cup in your hands, letting the steam rise up and envelop your face. "Busy," you replied with a small smile. "But good."

Titania's warm smile mirrored yours as she took a sip from her cup. You couldn't help but marvel at how she never seemed to burn her tongue despite never waiting for her tea to cool. "And you and that guard?" she asked, raising a perfectly groomed brow.

With a roll of your eyes, you corrected her. "He's not a guard. He's the spymaster."

A mischievous glint appeared in Titania's eyes as she teased, "As long as he wears those tight pants, he can call himself whatever he wants."

You couldn't hold back a soft chuckle as you took a sip of your own drink. "He's very skilled at his job."

"I didn't ask about his skills," Titania clarified with an amused smirk. "I asked about the two of you. But if you want to share about the skills he has feel free." Titania winked at you.

Peering up at her through your lashes, you responded coyly, "We're doing well."

"How well?" Titania leaned an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm.

"Very well." You arched an eyebrow playfully.

Titania grinned at you and cocked her head. "And he takes good care of you?"

You couldn't help but smile at the thought of your partner. "Very much so."

"And do you feel safe?" Titania inquired, her tone soft and caring. "With him?"

You nodded emphatically, a sense of security washing over you. "Absolutely."

"I'm glad to hear that, my dear." Titania reached across the table and squeezed your hand affectionately.

“What about you?” You asked. “How are things?”

Titania scoffed and motioned around the room, “This is how things are.” You laughed lightly. “I have a roof over my head, a belly full of food and for the first time, no odd rashes in my nether regions.”

After you had opened the first apartment complex, you had offered Titania the position of manager in hopes of getting her out of Pleasure Making. It was clear that the physical toll of the business was taking its toll on her aging body. Although hesitant at first, she eventually accepted the offer and now managed the complex full-time. And now, seeing her in this new role, you couldn't help but feel proud of her.

“I’m glad,” you sighed contentedly, smiling at her.

Her gaze drifted up to your forehead and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “What about your mate?” she inquired, pointing to your head. “Still causing trouble?”

You looked upward as if searching for an answer within your own mind. “Not as much,” you admitted. “I think I’ve finally learned how to block him out or maybe he’s just getting quieter.” You shrugged. “Regardless, I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Titania nodded approvingly, leaning back into her chair. “I’m glad to hear that.” She fell silent for a moment before asking tentatively, “And what about finding him? Have there been any leads?”

You shook your head sadly. Azriel had done everything in his power to locate Caelum and bring him to justice for Kai's murder, but the elusive male seemed to have vanished without a trace. You could only hope that he was far away or suffering in some dark, lonely cavern. "

“I'm sorry,” Titania said with genuine sympathy, her expression hardening at the mention of Caelum.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to brush off the weight of the past. “It doesn't matter anymore,” you confessed. “I'm happy where I am now.”

Titania's smile softened into one of understanding. “The best revenge is not letting him affect you.”

“I don't even care about revenge,” you admitted, shaking your head as you stared into your steaming cup of tea. “I'm just grateful for where I am now.”

You couldn't bring yourself to tell Titania about Philip and the truth behind his identity. Part of you didn't want to know if she had been aware all along, and another part wanted to hold onto the blissful ignorance of pretending she didn't know. Perhaps one day, if the opportunity presented itself, you would ask her. But for now, it was enough to bask in the happiness of the present.

“Titania,” you continued, “can I ask you something?”

The female across from you peered up from her cup which she placed back onto the saucer with a clink. “Of course.” She said, but her tone was slightly incredulous.

You weren't sure where this question came from, but it tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it

“If you could have done any other career, what would you have chosen?”

A faint furrow appeared between Titania's brows as she chuckled softly. The question was absurd, and you knew it. Titania had never had the luxury of considering other options for her life. Every day was a battle for survival, a constant struggle for safety. But now, in the presence of a strong woman who had overcome her circumstances and built a fulfilling life for herself, you couldn't help but wonder if she ever allowed herself to imagine the "what if's" of life. She sucked her teeth, her eyes not meeting yours. “I don’t know.” She said shrugging lightly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her bony arms.

You leaned forwards, “Anything, just if you could choose anything else."

Titania let out a sigh and gazed up at the ceiling as she considered your question. Did she envision herself in these alternate realities? Or did she simply imagine someone else living the life she wished she could have had? "My life wasn't unhappy," she offered finally, meeting your eyes again.

You were taken aback by her response and worried that you may have offended her. But before you could apologize, she raised a hand to stop you. "I had a very full life," she continued, reminiscing on all the experiences that made her life worth living. "I traveled, saw the world - or as much of it as I wanted to. I met wonderful fae, experienced life, ate good food, read good books."

You smiled at the contentment in her voice. Perhaps you had underestimated her struggle and discounted her as someone who was merely suffering through the world, not as someone who built herself around it.

"Life wasn't easy," she added with a hint of defiance in her tone, "and it certainly hasn't been handed to me. But if there was one thing I could have tried that I didn't get the chance to, I would have loved to be an actress." She nodded confidently, folding her hands in her lap.

You smiled lightly at her as she recounted everything that made her life so full. Perhaps you had discounted her as someone who was suffering.

“Life wasn’t easy. It certainly hasn’t been handed to me, and I don’t expect it to start being fair now.” She continued. “But I think if there was anything I could have tried that I didn’t get the chance to I would have loved to be an actress. “ She nodded, contently, her hands folding into her lap.

You tried to keep your jaw from falling to the floor. It made sense, with Titania’s eccentricities, her overall demeanor and command of a room. She was most certainly a personality fit for the stage. But to think of her, prancing around, wearing costumes and reciting lines someone else had written for her, you couldn't help but let out a small laugh, trying to hide it behind your hand. But Titania's scowl made it clear that you hadn't done a very convincing job.

She shook her head and sighed exasperatedly. "Oh alright," she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Go ahead and make fun of me."

Your laughter bubbled up again and you apologized through tears of mirth.

"It's okay," Titania dismissed your apologies with a wave of her hand, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know what you see when you look at poor old washed up Titania – no way could she ever be an actress." She shook her head and chuckled softly.

You managed to calm yourself down enough to speak without wheezing from laughter. "No, no," you reassured her with a wide grin. "That's not what I meant at all." You stifled another round of giggles before continuing, "I just never would have expected you to say that."

Her eyes widened, “Well what did you expect?”

You also didn’t have an answer to that question, perhaps you should have had one ready before you asked her it, but any answer she might have given you seemed absurd. She was Titania, the enchantress of pleasure and desire. Her aura exuded confidence and power, and no one dared to argue with her. She was fully and unapologetically herself.

But you searched for a label that would encapsulate her essence - something professional, rewarding, poised. “I don’t know.” You shrugged, trying to come up with an answer on the spot. “Healer?”

Titania rolled her eyes at your suggestion. “Sure.” She said incredulously.

“I’m serious!” You insisted, determined to justify it. “You’re empathetic, kind, you care for people.”

“That could also fit into thirty other professions.” She raised a sharp brow in amusement at your attempts.

“I know, but…” You searched for a better description, your eyes darting around the sparsely decorated room. The soft glow of candlelight danced on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to mimic the ebb and flow of conversation. “You always made me feel safe.” Titania’s expression softened slightly, her gaze meeting yours with understanding.

Her presence alone was enough to calm your racing heart and ease your worries. It was as if she had a special power, a way of soothing even the most troubled souls. You couldn't help but admire her for it. "You always knew how to get children to settle," you continued, "ways to get them to understand without words."

Titania let out a small laugh and rolled her eyes, "Let’s be honest, at this point, you've raised more than enough children and fought through more than enough childhood illnesses," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "You should have a healers degree by now."

Titania let out a small laugh and scoffed at you, but as she returned her gaze to you there was an unmistakable warmth behind it that made you feel at ease. She always had that way about her, making you feel like everything would be okay no matter what. “Losing you was one of the biggest heartbreaks I’d ever felt,” she said softly.

You tried to keep yourself from looking astonished. This sudden shift, this sudden flood of emotions from Titania was unusual for her, but you just held her gaze, silently urging her to continue.

“You were so full of life. Every day you woke up ready to take on the world and announced that you were going to be a force within it.” She chuckled lightly, shaking her head in amazement. “I’d never seen a child with so much to give.” She averted her gaze to the table, where her fingers traced patterns on the dark wood surface.

“I think that was because I had you.” You offered softly.

But Titania didn't look at you, simply shaking her head with a small smile. "No, that kind of spirit isn't something you learn," she said with certainty. "You came to me like that. Just full of reasons to live, even despite what you had been put through."

You couldn't help but smile at her words, your gaze following her fingers as they continued to trace the patterns on the table. “I wish I could have grown up with you,” you whispered softly, feeling a small fire of anger for not having had more time with her.

Titania lifted her eyes to you, a sorrowful expression etched on her face. The lines of her brow deepened as she gazed at you with a certain intensity. "I don't," she said softly, her voice unwavering.

You met her own gaze as she continued. “You deserved more than the life I could give you.”

You shook your head no, but as you did, one of those long bony hands reached out to you, grasping yours. “I wouldn’t have let you live the life your mother had. Or I had.” Her touch was surprisingly gentle as her thumb traced your hand lightly. “I think that if your mother had continued on the road she had, without taking you away, you would have seen things your tiny heart couldn’t have handled. I think…” she paused, “I think that it would have been selfish for me to make her stay knowing how it would have hurt you.” You felt a rock forming in your throat as she continued, shaking her head. “It broke my heart when you left, but I think your mother knew that there was nothing left for you here. Nothing that would help you.”

You shrugged, your voice breaking slightly as you filled in the pieces she was missing. “I don’t know if it was much better after she took me.” Titania’s eyes shifted to yours, “I don’t remember much after we left.” You shrugged, “Just bits and pieces with her. I remember a lot more from when I was living with you.” You wondered silently if it was because the child who lived those moments couldn’t handle the memories of what happened to her in those woods, in those early years when it was just your mother and you. Perhaps it was the only way to keep you from falling apart. Perhaps your mind kept you safe by forgetting.

“But I do remember her crying a lot. I remember when we finally made it to the little village we lived in she would just spend days in bed, just sobbing.” You continued, Titania’s hand squeezed yours.

“I guess that’s the withdrawals she was going through?” You shrugged, “But I just remember crawling into bed with her and just crying with her. For days and days. But at some point I stopped crying, and I would just lay there with her, listening.”

Titania’s fingers began running along your hand again, but your gaze was empty as you searched through the small memories you had. “I think that the other villagers that there was something wrong, but it was such an isolated community that most everyone just kept to themselves. They all had their own issues that no one had the time to come knocking on the door of a stranger.” You shook your head, “But one of the only clear memories I have was leaving the cabin after a few days, when we hard run out of food.” Your eyes narrowed as you tried to pull back those images, “I remember going into the woods and finding some berries to help the ache, but they must have been poisonous because I just got so sick afterwards. But I remember going to another cabin, when I got better, and knocking on the door. This other female opened it, looking exhausted and overwhelmed with five children surrounding her.”

You laughed lightly at the image of this tired, disheveled female, not much older than your mother swinging open the door. Her eyes purpled underneath as three small children played at her feet, one of them whining and barely hanging from the hem of her dress while and a baby strapped to her chest, also screaming.

"I must have looked close to death because she immediately brought me inside and sat me down.” You shook your head, brow furrowing as you dug deeper, “The cabin was so small. I think there was only one bed in the whole place.” You chuckled. “It was tiny, I mean tiny. Only one room which was just covered in clothing and dirty pans and pots. And the children, gods the children they just whined like they had limitless amounts of breath in their lungs.”

Titania laughed, “As they do.”

You continued on, “I remember she offered me a biscuit.” You nodded as the picture continued to paint itself, “Yeah, she did. And she kept having to swat away the other children who kept trying to take it from me.” Perhaps they were hungry too, you thought. “But I wouldn’t eat it in front of her. I just kept telling her I had to take it back to my mother.”

Titania’s focused was solely on you, even as a small child ran in through the back door, squealing and screaming, clanging pans together as they exited. It seemed as though her only world was you.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you continued, “But I remember taking the female to our cabin. And the other children came with. And I remember she brought a basket of some food. I can’t imagine she had much to spare though.” It was a small basket, you recalled, with barely more than some slices of hardened bread and a few pieces of jerky. “She told me to wait outside with her children who were only slightly more civilized than feral. And she gave us a biscuit to share, which the other children immediately stole and ate. But she went inside, and was in there for a while.” It felt like an eternity, but as a child, five minutes felt like hours so you weren’t fully sure how long the female was inside with your mother. “But when she came back out, she was holding my mother up by her arm.” You felt your eyes go glassy. “She looked so pale in the sunlight. And she was so skinny. And her eyes were just,” you own eyes widened, “just bloodshot.”

You felt Titania gulp.

“But the female looked at me and smiled and she told me everything was going to be okay now. She said that she was going to help us” You let out a breathy smile, shaking your head. “I don’t know what she said to mama. But she seemed to change after that. She still had her bad days, and I remember her just being more quickly angry, but she actually started living again.”

You paused, blinking, sifting through memories that had disappeared from you. Titania interrupted your thoughts, “Do you remember what happened to the female?”

You flicked your eyes up to her, “I know she came to the house once a week, with her flock of rowdy children in tow,” you laughed, Titania did as well, “And I guess she was checking to make sure we were both still alive.”

“Did you know her name?” Titania asked.

You pursed your lips, shaking your head, “No,” you said, your voice hollowed, “I don’t remember it.”

Looking back on the memory as an adult you were now aware how much that female had done for you, for your mother. In a world that had been so cruel to the both of you, this one female, with almost nothing of her own, shared her food, clothing, blankets with you. You recalled how in winters when it was even too cold for the small wood stove to warm your cabin, your mother and yourself would go to her cabin, crawl into that too small bed with her children and herself and sleep with each others body heat being the only warmth. And now you couldn’t remember her name, and that brought a pang of guilt through your stomach.

“When did your mother leave?” Titania asked.

You shook yourself from the feeling of sadness that wormed into your belly. “I wasn’t that old. Maybe a little over ninety?” You offered.

“So you were with Caelum and his family for a while then.” Titania stated more than asked.

You nodded. “His mother took me under her wing.” You shrugged. “Until Caelum and I secured the mating bond.” Those memories, that small happiness when you felt a sense of family felt poisoned by knowing what came next.

Titania smiled at you, with a sincerity that warmed your heart. “You are raised by the world, doll.”

You shook your head, “No, I’m raised by those who know The Mother is cruel, and decide to ignore her.”

Titania chuckled, “What does she know?” Titania teased, her hand gripping yours tightly, “She’s just some bitch who hasn’t seen the world.”

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