#but you can tell - usually - that somewhere in the history of these small towns someone said:

[zytes]

something’s wrong?

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[pod-together]

Pod-Together Day 4 Reveals 2024

Strawberry-Coated (Hannibal (TV)) written by Artemiaz, performed by Dr_Fumbles_McStupid Summary: At last, the monster turned its head. Cunning had departed from mercurial eyes. There was no pride in that sharp face; no wicked smile hidden at the corner of an insatiable mouth. Right now, Hannibal Lecter was just a man. “Will… don’t do this.” After five sweet years of domestic bliss, there’s only one thing that could sour the atmosphere between Will and Hannibal: the anniversary of Abigail Hobbs’ death.

Gifts Are Given (Not Taken) (Original Work) written by Hagar, performed by DuskDragon39 Summary: It is the tradition dictated by King Tharus, founder of the Kingdon of Artium, that his heirs renew his treaty with the dragon Kess'ar before they ascend to the throne. Unfortunately for them, Kess'ar also retains his right to not renew the treaty - and the dragon does not suffer fools kindly.

holding on where i am able (RWBY) written by hopelessgemini, performed by MistbornHero Summary: it is a quiet night in vacuo, and ruby rose can't sleep.

Death's Champions (The Sandman (TV 2022)) written by Lalaith_Quetzalli, performed by godoflaundrybaskets Summary: It is said that there can be no true life without death. Likewise, it is known that without one of the Endless, reality will eventually crumble. When the Magus and his Order of Ancient Mysteries prove smarter and stronger than expected, and succeed in summoning and capturing Death, something must be done in order to rescue her. What kind of individuals can be expected to undertake such a mission?

Brownstone Ghosts [text, audio] (Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston) written by Mansikka, performed by ToughPaperRound Summary: It's time for Henry to share some secrets with Alex. Past time, actually; if only he'd figured out a way to explain before those secrets all but introduced themselves. "Alex," Henry says, clutching a bottle of whiskey for support while giving him a nervous smile. "How do you feel about... ghosts?"

Perfect Days (The Furious Pain of Living) (Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types, DCU) written by Mbira, performed by Poluche Summary: The thing is, Hal was meant to fly. To go, to see, to be, to not be stuck in the same place without moving forward, isolated without future. So yes, he was freaking out. Enough to ask a sketchy dude whose real name he didn’t even know for help. Or Hal is stuck in a time loop. Batman and Robin are there for him.

How Steve became "Sir Steve the Brave" [text, audio] (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) written by MeggieJolly, performed by steddiestories Summary: Eddie tells Steve a story about how Eddie the Banished and Sir Steve the Brave met. It was only supposed to be a fun little story, but it sort of turns into an accidental feelings confession. ~ »This is the story of Eddie the Banished, Sir Steve the Brave and their merry band of fools.« Eddie started with his usual dramatic flair. He had been stretched out on the bed next to Steve, but now he sat up to do his story - or well, maybe ‚performance‘ would be the better word - justice. »Their story happened a long, long time ago, somewhere in Europe. A place with castles and fortresses, with princes and knights, bards and fools. The kind of place that only exists in history books and fantasy these days. This was the world in which Sir Steve lived in a castle up on a hill overlooking a small town that was ruled by his parents. Sir Steve had been knighted a few years ago and fought in some tournaments to prove himself, but nowadays he was mostly stuck on his parents’ estate.«

A Gift of Flexibility (titanium) (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) written by BardicRaven, performed by BardicRavenReads, audio production by onegoldenraptor Summary: When Julian is struggling, someone gives him a gift. A gift that helps. A gift of flexibility. When Garak is struggling, Julian gives him a gift. A gift of flexibility. A gift he hopes will help.

The Art of Not Letting Go, Chapter 2 (Ted Lasso (TV)) written by rockinhamburger, performed by klb Summary: Beard takes a deep breath and gives in to the impulse he’s been restraining for weeks: “But with your permission, I'd love to run off this plane and into her arms.” Ted’s eyes widen now, and Beard watches anxiously for hints of how he’s taking this. Ted leans back in his seat and closes his eyes for a few moments, like he’s doing some internal reflection. Then he opens his eyes again, looks at Beard, and says, soft and quiet, “No.” No. The no hangs in suspension as Beard struggles to make sense of it, that’s how sure he was Ted would say yes. He’s too surprised to speak. He must be taking too long because Ted shifts forward, expression conflicted. “Now, obviously you got free will, Beard. I’m not about to tell you what to do. You’re free to make whatever choice you want, so if you wanna stay here… stay with her? I trust you to make good choices, and I’ll support whatever you choose.” Ted lets out a slow, emotional breath. “But if you’re asking for my permission, I—” He visibly swallows, “I’m not giving it.”

The Doctor Doesn’t Text [text, audio] (Doctor Who (2005)) written by waltztangocache, performed by rscreighton and oddfront Summary: The Doctor shares some near future communications technology with Donna.

refreshing as an evil forgotten [text, audio] (魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù) written by unitaryexectheory, performed by Wonderlandian_Geek Summary: Mo Xuanyu dies to bring back Wen Ruohan.

[e-b-reads]

[master list here]

Cozy mysteries - if you’ve read one you know the genre! Often follow the plot pattern of: [single young woman/divorcee] returns to [hometown/other important location of her childhood] to [take over family/start a new] business. Someone is murdered! Because [the murder hurts her business/she’s a suspect/her bestie is a suspect/…] she must investigate extra-judiciously. Luckily she is successful, and also a romance is developing with the hunky [detective/co-worker…it’s usually a detective and/or cop tho].

Despite the similarities, many cozy mysteries I’ve read do have a thing or two that sets them apart! Read on for some recommendations based on what kind of experience you might be looking for! (In order of how recently I read them; this is by no means an exhaustive list, just some things I read and thought worth recommending.)

Are you looking for a cozy mystery series that…

…has recurring characters that may become future murderers/victims?

Local Foods Mystery Series, by Edith Maxwell!

Otherwise a fairly typical cozy mystery experience, but I did like the setting and the journey to end up with the love interest - who is not, for once, described mainly as “handsome,” but is given physical traits that have no inherent value, but which the heroine obviously likes. (It’s a small thing, but worth noting!)

…has characters of color as the main cast?

Noodle Shop Mystery series, by Vivien Chien

In this mystery, when the main character moves “back home” it means she’s working in her parent’s noodle house again, in a shopping center full of Chinese-American owned businesses. This is the community she mostly solves mysteries in. Cute and funny at times!

…has a love interest who isn’t a cop?

Melanie Travis mystery series, by Laurien Berenson

As you can hopefully tell from the cover, the sort of business/special interest driving this cozy series is dog breeding and dog shows! The main character’s aunt gets her into helping show standard Poodles. Aside from the fascinating look into the world of showing dogs, the mysteries are fairly standard, but I do like (as said above) that the love interest isn’t a cop for once - and also and maybe more importantly, the main character is a single mom who really loves her six-year-old and has to deal with logistics like child care before diving into dog shows and mysteries.

…has a more experienced amateur detective?

Coffeehouse Mysteries, by Cleo Coyle

She’s not experienced at solving crime, but she’s a 40-something divorcée with an adult daughter who, in book 1, is about to take back over a coffee house that she has several years of experience running. In other ways, not dissimilar from the standard cozy series outline - except that they take place in NYC instead of a small town somewhere! Also good if you like a slow burn romance - it takes several books for the main character to get with the main love interest.

…has characters more complex than they seem?

Cajun Country Mysteries, by Ellen Byron

These also have a strong, fun sense of place deep in the heart of Louisiana, though in a fictional town. Though essentially light-hearted, they do acknowledge the history of plantations in the area, as well as giving the reader a look at various true funky Cajun Country traditions. The recurring characters are a little over-the-top at points, but they’re saved by the added complexity: for example, the mean sheriff character who is nowhere near as handsome as his detective cousin (guess who the love interest is…) turns out to be a still annoying but OK guy who is able to acknowledge when he was wrong. Also, as someone who works in hospitality: the people staying in the main character’s BnB are unfortunately not super over-the-top, people can really be like that. (Except with less murder, in my experience.)

…has a Marple-ish (older, underestimated) protagonist?

Deadly Edits series, by Kaitlyn Dunnett

There is no love interest here! (At least, not in the ones I read.) A retired widow moves to her childhood hometown and opens a copy-editing business, then starts solving murders. It’s a nice change of pace from the young businesswomen looking for love, if you’re still looking for an essentially cozy plot.

[softersinned-arc]

Of all the places she could have run, she landed here. Here, in a town in California small enough she'd missed it the first few times her eyes swept over a map, and she knows better than to think that she's ever really going to feel as safe as she'd like, but for once it's enough. Some part of her aches to realize it—and she wonders how many of the last twenty-eight years of her life could have been spent happier if she'd been here, or away from her family, or away from her history. That therapist she saw when she was seventeen would be having a field day with this. Is it possible that you find peace not in running away from your past, he'd ask her, but in running towards your future? This is the first time you've imagined a future in years, Astoria. That's got to mean something.

And that this is the reason for it... The idea that she never intrudes hits her a bit harder than she thinks it should. And there's her therapist's voice again, chuckling dryly, reminding her you've felt unwanted in every home you've been in. Of course it's taking you by surprise now. She's spent the last few months lying to him and giving him excuse after excuse to avoid talking about her history, sneaking out while he's asleep so she doesn't have to face the threat of being seen vulnerable, and somehow Jax Teller knows her. He knows her when she speaks and when she's silent, knows when she needs reassurance, knows when she needs space, knows that she'll want to tell Hale everything. Knows, somehow, that she's terrified (though she'd never admit it) that she's already overstayed her welcome and that she's been caught off-guard, that someone else will have control over her and will ask her to leave and have every reason to want her to.

He knows her. Any by some miracle, through some impossible twist of fate, he wants her anyway. Normally her instinct would be telling her to act, to manipulate and lie and find some way to make herself more valuable as an ally than a reject, but she can't remember any of her usual tricks and even if she could, it doesn't occur to her to use them. He holds her in his hands like she's something worth keeping and it makes her feel like he's knocked the wind out of her. One of her hands drifts to his face, and she traces the arc of his cheekbone, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip. He is a work of art and she can feel the most incredible need building in her, even though he's already right here in front of her and he's not going anywhere.

"Okay." What else is there to say? But her tone is as tender as her touch, her eyes warm on his, and she hates that she doesn't have the words for it. Maybe if she could combine languages she could piece it together: how much she appreciates exactly who he is, how relieved she is that he wants her still despite having a hundred good reasons to turn her away. Her fingers stall over his lips, and she watches him in silence for a moment before she opens her mouth to speak. Whatever she manages won't cover everything she wants to say, but it'll have to be enough.

"I'm glad I ended up here." Astoria's voice is low, and for a moment she has the urge to slip her fingers past his lips, to trace the shape of his teeth, to ask him to leave her with a mark so she has some sort of proof that someone knows her and wants her anyway. It takes a surprising amount of effort, but she refrains. "And I'm so grateful you were at that bar that night." There's some version of all of this where they didn't meet that night. She ended up somewhere else. He never wrote his number on her hand. She thinks that in that version of everything, it doesn't end well for her. "And—I'm glad you know. I'm glad you know me." If she thinks about it, really thinks about it, she'll realize that she's never actually wanted to be known before. Not like this.

And there are still so many things they haven't covered. Her hand falls to rest on his wrist, and she gently guides his hand up to rest on her hip before she slips it under her shirt, curls his fingers over the tattoo on her side. "This was my first tattoo. I was nineteen. Nobody ever really sees it unless I'm naked, so it's one of the few things I haven't changed at all." She leaves his hand on her side, and she stretches her left arm out. "I got this when I was twenty-two. My father's Irish; I'd met him a couple of years before. These were the wildflowers that grew near their house. Some of them got blacked out; it's the same tattoo, it's just different enough that it doesn't look quite like the same tattoo anymore.

"This one's new." She lifts her right hand to show him the crow there, and she smiles, crooked and sweet. "I got this right after I landed in America. Hurt like a bitch to wear gloves over that while I was traveling, but that was nothing compared to the itching. Worth it, though. I used to love crows," she explains, "still do, and my grandmother used to call me her little blackbird. Seeing all the crows around here, felt almost like fate, if I believed in fate. My hair was longer. Less curl, when it's longer. And it was lighter. And my full name is Astoria Ileana Cassandra Grim. My father wanted me to add Donnelly to that after I met him. Vogel was the surname of—don't laugh—my childhood nanny. And now you officially know me better than anyone else in the world."

Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, then she cards one through his hair, and she leans forward to press her mouth to his. And there's her hunger—to be seen, to be known, really known. For a moment she allows herself to forget everything else: that hour spent with Stahl, the fear that followed, that there will be someone else (albeit someone she adores) in the house with them soon enough. There are no guns. There's no danger. There's only this, and she thinks she'll never have enough of it. She wants to ask him if he's sure he can't take just a little bit more time away from the garage to stay with her, and under other circumstances she might, but for now, she doesn't want to push.

(But even that knowledge doesn't keep her from kissing him a second time, mere moments after she pulls back from him to take a breath.)

"Do whatever you've got to do," she says quietly, lips brushing against his as she speaks. "I'll be here. And I'll be alright. And tell whoever you think needs to know—I trust you. i really do trust you." It almost feels unfamiliar, the sensation of trusting anyone. She kisses him a final time, this one less hungry than longing. "Thank you for giving me so much reason to."

     jax doesn’t want to save anyone.  he has no illusions about being a knight in shining armor or whatever the fuck the fairytales give you.  her shit was her shit to deal with until she asked for help because, in the club, there was a certain level of trust in the people you have around you.  trust in them to be able to handle themselves.  as far as he was concerned, if they did ask for help?  that didn’t mean they were weak in any way.  it simply meant they understood the weight was too heavy and it might start encroaching on their brothers.  

     that wasn’t to say no one tried to protect each other.  he was always a call away if someone needed a net to catch them.  hale had done it a number of times with both him and opie.  when shit got too heavy for his heart and he bit off more than he could chew.  jax could remember a specific time when hale stepped in front of too many fists and ope had to carry him into the truck like a wounded animal.  a giant carrying a giant.  now that was a sight to see.

     but, he has to admit, there’s a moment when astrid’s looking at the guns that he wants to make this all go away for her.  she’s not shaking when she’s picking up the guns but she handles them like they’re disgusting.  like they weren’t built for soft hands like hers.  and, really, they aren’t.  unfortunately, jax can’t be around all the time so it makes the most sense to give her the tools and the confidence to do something about danger herself while also reinforcing the idea that the club would be there to have her back whenever she needed it.  the things she’s been through and the things she will more than likely go through being attached to him, hale, and the sons means tools will always make the most sense.

     he’d shown her the shotgun in the closet because it’d take the least amount of practice.  aim in a general direction and let the pellets do the rest.  only two chances to do some damage but, at close range, you really don’t need more than that.  he makes a mental note to show her where the box of extra ammo is.  considering how wide her eyes got when he first pulled it out he didn’t want to overwhelm her with all the weapons in the house.  as it was, jax was regretting pulling out both boxes of guns.  he wasn’t sure which one the subcompacts were in, though.

     reaching over the side of one of the boxes, he picks up a glock 17, which was the same gun he carried with him on a daily basis.  this one was older.  nothing wrong with it.  jax loaned it to someone, started carrying the new one, and never changed them back.

     he pulls back the slide to make sure there wasn’t a bullet loaded in the chamber then ejects the magazine down the handle.  it’s also empty.

     “ clay started taking me to the range when thomas got sick.  something to keep me distracted, i guess.  focus on the future and not my brother’s defective heart. “  it occurs to him as he looks down at the black metal that astrid deserved to be in a better place.  running or not, a small town surrounded my criminal bikers wasn’t exactly the best place to build a life and he found that he loved her enough to ask her to go away.  this would be the perfect opportunity, right?  yet, jax is also selfish because he hasn’t felt anything like this in as long as he can remember.  the way she fits into his life is seamless, easy, and breathtaking.  usually gemma’s up in his shit trying to stir his thoughts because no one’s good enough.  “ i was scared the first few times i tried to go shooting.  it’s fuckin’ loud.  pinched my finger and dropped the god damn thing on my foot, “ jax chuckles and shakes his head.  fingers move to comb back the hair that’s falling into his face.

     he listens patiently as she continues her story.  “ no, “ the biker says gently.  “ that’s not fucked up at all.  you were fighting for your life, red.  never, ever feel bad for being the one to make it out alive. “  he, for one, would never judge her for doing whatever she felt she had to in order to survive.  in fact, he was proud that she’d had the courage to protect herself.  not everyone could no matter how bad the situation might be.

     “ it’s not going to make anything magically better. “  the magazine clicks back into place and he sets the glock back on top of the pile he’d pulled it from.  he leans forward, letting his hand rest against the blanket.  being smart and being safe could be very different things.  “ it’s also not going to make you magically safer. “  everyone in the club knew how to shoot better than the average person and they had holes put into their bodies all the time.  hale had been in the army as a sniper.  by all accounts he was the best shot in the club, and that didn’t make them any safer from the mayans or anyone else who wanted to push their luck.  when everyone had guns it was just a slaughterfest but he was also thinking like a member of the sons and not someone who was running from one specific thing.

     “ i will teach you whatever i can.  there’s a shooting range we can go to so you can practice and get comfortable.  but you can always change your mind and i will not think anything of it. “  not that he needed to tell her that.  she’s already been through hell and walked out the other side.  “ if we ask shay i also know he’d be more than happy to show you some self defense.  not as a one or the other, thing.  only you can decide what’s best for you.  i’m just trying to lay out all the tools we have to make you feel protected. “

     none of that had to be decided in the moment, though.  sleep first, let the stahl jitters get out of her system, then they could revisit everything.

     arms reach out when she steps close.  hands settle at the curve where ass meets thigh, giving a light squeeze.  under different circumstances he’d be getting her naked right about then.  between the bed being covered in guns and, honestly, liking the intimacy just as it was, jax didn’t want to push it.  so, he keeps stroking her thighs, instead.

     “ babe, i love having you here.  you never intrude, “ the blonde shakes her legs for good measure.  “ call hale.  tell him to get his amazonian ass over here for a sleep over.  i’ll order pizza and get a few things straightened out at the shop while you guys talk about everything, okay? “

[pamgkrthwrites]

How would yandere Macaque react to hearing his love interest breaking down in tears after a heated argument with someone on the phone, like a family member and then saying "I wish they'd just fucking die"

This will go in two parts because I think he would have different reactions depending on his relationship with you.

If Macaque is stalking you but you haven't met him yet

He would be sitting on the wall next to the window of the room you are in, listening to the entire time as he usually does.

You have been yelling at this family member for almost 2 hours now. He was admittedly getting turned on by your anger, but he hears you getting very annoyed and hears the sound of you hanging up.

He can only guess you went to your bed because of the sounds being made in the room. And soon he heard you start to cry into a pillow.

His heart stings and he wants to go in and comfort you, but some ugly monkey monster coming into your room would probably worsen your state. He was frozen to the wall.

Then he heard your words "I wish they'd just fucking die."

His blood began to boil.

Who fucking dared to hurt the most perfect thing in the world? And why did they think this action would not have consequences?

He waited until you fell asleep from crying before sneaking into your room. He got onto your phone and put in the code he knew from stalking you so much and went through your call history to see the number of the person.

Before he left he cleans your place and gets you water ready for the morning. He needs to comfort you somehow, even if he can't do it himself.

When he leaves he finds ways to track the phone number and the owner of the phone and kills your family member in cold blood.

He trashed their house and out all the things they loved and burnt them. He then also burnt the body and took the ashes to put somewhere else.

When you find out the news your family member "went missing" and their home was trashed, he felt kinda guilty for your words but felt as if karma struck them their selves.

Lucky or unlucky for you, Karma's name was Macaque and he was just happy you no longer had to deal with that person anymore.

If Macaque and you are dating

First off, who fucking dare to call you while you were cuddling him?

Your facial reaction gave him enough to know this was probably one family member you hated talking to.

You get up from the couch and make your way to your bedroom closing the door behind you.

Macaque pouts but listens in on the conversation.

"I'm telling you Y/N, dating that... that thing will make people look down on you!" Ouch.

"Oh, will you fuck off? I've told you I will date whoever I want to and if I want to date Macaque I fucking will! He isn't a thing either you-"

It was a back and forth with someone over if you should date him. His heart sank with the fear that you were going to leave him, but within 10 minutes you hang up and he could you throw something.

He got up and made his way to the room. His hand above the doorknob, he heard you say "I wish they'd just fucking die."

That got his blood boiling but he needed to stay calm for you.

He walked in, seeing your back to the door. "Hey starlight, you okay?"

That's when he heard you whimper.

He felt his body go into shock and he rushed over to you and saw your crying face.

How fucking dare that idiot makes you cry.

He pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead. He tells you everything is okay and that he is here for you and he will even let you braid hair this time.

He spends the rest of the day making sure you are given food you like, in comfortable places, you have all the pillows, and that you feel loved.

When you fall asleep, however, he goes to that family members house, kidnaps them, takes them to a cave outside of town, and give them a slow and painful death. He burns them and the evidence and uses the ashes to make a small diamond that he gives you as earrings.

No one is hurting his starlight.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Fic snippet proposed by @myakkoh​ (tumblr) or BlueSapphire718 (ao3):

“I’m what?” Lan Qiren squawks, since this is the first time he’s heard anything about this. “Sworn brothers with me,” Wen Ruohan drawls. “A memorable night, really.” Lan Qiren stares. “What.” “What’s wrong?” Wen Ruohan sneers. “Can’t speak properly to Da-ge?” “You,” Lan Qiren says, “cannot be Da-ge. It sounds wrong.” “Oh?” “You, are two generations older than me. I am only sixteen.” “All the better,” Wen Ruohan says smoothly.

------------------------------------------------

Spilled Pearls

A/N: If Tedious Joys is the story of LQR's relationship with Sect Leader Nie and how WRH impacts that, then this is the story of LQR's relationship with WRH and how Sect Leader Nie impacts that.

Please note the tagging on Ao3 for all warnings, including as to tone

- Chapter 1 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren was running to catch up, because he was always running to catch up.

He’d only been allowed to join this particular night-hunt because of Lao Nie’s interference – his brother hadn’t wanted him there, specifically because Lan Qiren was slow and overly fixated on details and not all that handy with a sword – and he was determined not to fall behind. But he was slow, as always, and tired more easily than the others, and then he got distracted and realized a considerable distance had opened up between him and the rest of the group.

He ran to catch up –

He tripped.

He was going to fall flat on his face, he realized as he pitched forward, throwing his hands up in front of his face to try to blunt the pain since humiliation was already a given. He probably wasn’t far enough behind for them not to see this, and then his brother would turn his face away and sigh, aggravated, his shoulders slumping in disappointment at how Lan Qiren had lost him and their sect face all over again.

Lan Qiren was so bound up in his gloomy thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that he had not, in fact, hit the ground.

Someone had caught him.

Even now, they were holding him by the shoulder, keeping him from falling the rest of the way down with a single hand; the posture was awkward, and must be uncomfortable for them.

Lan Qiren straightened himself up immediately and dropped into a deep salute. “Thank you for your help –”

He looked up.

“…Sect Leader Wen,” he finished weakly.

He stared briefly up into red eyes before averting his gaze. He’d thought it was Lao Nie who’d come back to help him, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the familiar Nie colors turning back to the group – perhaps he had come, and was now leaving, since help wasn’t necessary any longer.

He hadn’t expected it to be Wen Ruohan, an ancient monster two generations his elder despite his deceptively youthful face – he hadn’t even realized that Wen Ruohan had decided to tag along on this night-hunt, though of course once he thought about it, it seemed perfectly reasonable. He, like all the other sect leaders, was here for the discussion conference, and a small forest town in the vicinity of the Cloud Recesses did not offer much in the way of other entertainment for outsiders. Why shouldn’t he come along on the night-hunt?

“It’s no matter,” Wen Ruohan said, and it probably wasn’t, for him. Someone with his level of cultivation could hold a kid like Lan Qiren up for a week without noticing the strain. “Did you get distracted by something back there?”

“Small blue flowers,” Lan Qiren said. “Typically associated with certain healing herbs, none of which are native to this area, and growing under an oak of all things; I was wondering if the placement had been deliberate and, if so, by whom and for what purpose. Not to mention when, since those aren’t perennial herbs; they have a longer growing cycle that requires certain meteorological conditions –”

“Aren’t we hunting serpent demons today?” Wen Ruohan asked, and Lan Qiren flinched.

They were, of course. And serpent demons wouldn’t exactly take the time to go plant healing herbs in a wild patch, so it had been a totally pointless diversion.

As usual.

“I got distracted,” Lan Qiren mumbled, his earlier enthusiasm squashed. “I’d say it won’t happen again, but it probably will, and do not lie is a rule.”

Wen Ruohan gave an amused huff. “Ah yes, the famous Lan sect rules. Do you often follow them?”

“Always!”

A hum. “I see. Well, the others have gotten rather far ahead, and I hear the sound of fighting – they must have already found the serpent demons, and will no doubt finish them off by the time we catch up.”

So he’d missed it. Lan Qiren’s shoulders drooped in disappointment.

“Why don’t you show me your flowers, instead?”

Lan Qiren looked up. Wen Ruohan was smiling.

“If you’re sure,” he said cautiously, but Wen Ruohan shrugged and nodded, and, well, Lan Qiren was supposed to be making friends with the members of the other sects, wasn’t he? Maybe no one had been thinking about the Wen sect, especially since Wen Ruohan’s last set of children had all died – someone had broken the prohibition on gossip in Lan Qiren’s presence and suggested that Wen Ruohan had something to do with that, rather than it being just bad luck, and that he’d done it because he thought he was a real immortal and therefore could always start anew, but the idea was so appalling that it surely couldn’t be true – but there wasn’t any real reason to exempt his sect or even him, either. Friends were friends, weren’t they? “It’s this way. Follow me.”

Wen Ruohan put his hands behind his back and followed Lan Qiren back towards the tree he’d found, his every motion slow and stately as if he were walking in a garden rather than the forest. Lan Qiren found himself mildly jealous.

To distract himself – envying others was against the rules! – he started explaining about the flowers he’d recognized and the types of herbs he thought the plant might be, citing the treatises he’d read about their usual spread and growing patterns and the uses for each one. Somewhere along the line he got distracted, though, because Wen Ruohan mentioned something about the Lan sect rules again, except he got it wrong; there was no rule against excessive verbosity, only against frivolous speech, and while there was a positive rule that counseled speaking meagerly, that was explicitly meant to avoid words that could bring harm and therefore did not apply to intellectual discussions.

Delighted as always to talk about his favorite subject, Lan Qiren promptly launched into an explanation as to the history of the debate as to whether there should be an affirmative prohibition against excessive speech, the various points on either side, the historical texts on the subject, the storied history of the rules regarding the need for an exchange of ideas in furthering education balanced against the exhortation not to take words lightly…

“Look at me,” Wen Ruohan said, and Lan Qiren obeyed at once. Wen Ruohan was his elder, although not of his sect, and by this point Lan Qiren was used to elders disapproving of how his flickering gaze tended not to settle on people and his preference to look at things through his peripheral vision, and of being ordered to meet their gaze.

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were red, as he’d noticed before, and his gaze was heavy and thoughtful, somehow ponderous. It felt almost like pressure against his skin or maybe his mind.

Maybe I should change subjects or be quiet, Lan Qiren thought to himself, the thought coming to him almost involuntarily, but then he realized that if he did, Wen Ruohan wouldn’t hear about the three-day conference that had been held in his great-grandparents’ generation that specifically focused on the rules that related to speech. And that would be an awful shame, wouldn’t it?

So he kept going.

He kept up the eye contact, though. The elders didn’t always like that, either – when he did hold someone’s gaze, he would stare too directly and too long, not knowing when it was appropriate to turn away, but he figured Wen Ruohan would simply tell him. He’d reminded him about the eye contact earlier, hadn’t he?

“How old are you?” Wen Ruohan suddenly asked, just as Lan Qiren was taking a deep breath, having finished explaining the conference and about to launch into a discourse on the follow-up texts that had been written in the immediate aftermath.

Lan Qiren blinked, distracted by the apparent non sequitur. “Thirteen,” he said.

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully. “Thirteen. Interesting.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked, bemused. “I think it’s a rather boring age. I’m old enough for more chores, but not old enough to have free access to the library or go on night-hunts on my own.”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. His voice was very deep. “I was more commenting on your strength of mind, which is remarkable for your age. I do not recall the age itself,” he said, his tone a little dry. He was ancient, so it was reasonable for him to forget having been thirteen. “Has anyone ever told you about the ways in which cultivation can be used to influence the thoughts and will of others?”

Lan Qiren thought about it. “I think so? There’s a text that says that weak-willed cultivators can be swayed through external pressure wielded by a stronger person’s cultivation, and the larger the power gap between the cultivators, the more effective the influence can be…I don’t remember which text it was, though. I could look up the citation for you when we return –”

“No need. I am not in search of sources.”

Wen Ruohan probably had his own library full of sources, Lan Qiren reflected, and nodded.

“Oh, we’re here,” he said, noticing, and pointed to the flowers. “See, like I told you earlier, it has the characteristic qualities of –”

“Qiren!”

Lan Qiren flinched.

That was his brother’s voice, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Sect Leader Wen,” his brother said, striding into the clearing where they were standing and saluting in a somewhat perfunctory fashion. “I appreciate you taking the time to watch over my younger brother – please forgive him for any impertinence or insult –”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders were up by his ears and his whole face was red with shame. He hated how his brother apologized for him before he even checked whether Lan Qiren had even done anything; it was embarrassing that his brother always thought so little of him.

Maybe he wasn’t talented the way his brother was, but he wasn’t that bad, he didn’t think.

“Think nothing of it, Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan was saying in return. “We were merely spending some time together. I assume the serpent demons have been taken care of?”

“Yes, they have,” Lan Qiren’s brother said. “There’s some debate regarding the disposition of the corpses, if you’d like to join in – forgive us both, but I have to take my brother back to make sure he doesn’t miss curfew.”

Curfew wasn’t for another two shichen, so Lan Qiren had no idea what his brother was talking about, but he obediently saluted Wen Ruohan and followed his brother away.

The moment they were out of view, his brother reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing far too tightly, and tugged meaningfully, glaring when Lan Qiren opened his mouth to protest.

Lan Qiren didn’t understand what his brother was trying to convey.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Qiren started to say, and felt his lips abruptly seal together – it was the muting spell. He could break it, of course, being a member of the Lan sect as well, but his brother was his elder; he should wait patiently until he removed it. Still, he was a little indignant that his brother felt the need to use it on him. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong!

(The glare, he thought. The glare must have been a secret message to not speak, and he’d missed it.)

His brother didn’t say anything as they got on their swords, and he didn’t let go of Lan Qiren’s wrist, either, tugging him along as if he thought Lan Qiren was stupid enough to get lost on the way home. A feeling of shame, the sensation of having made some terrible error and not having realized it again, settled in Lan Qiren’s belly and steadily got worse and worse as they traveled.

It wasn’t until they were back at the inn that was housing everyone during the night-hunt that his brother released his hand.

“You shouldn’t let yourself be alone with Sect Leader Wen,” he said, which surprised Lan Qiren – he’d expected his brother to jump straight into listing out all the ways Lan Qiren had embarrassed him at the night-hunt. He hadn’t been expecting his brother to say something like that at all.

“Why not?” he asked, and his brother glared at him. “You didn’t want to babysit me, and I was falling behind. He wanted to see the flowers –”

“He was humoring you,” his brother interrupted. “Everyone always humors you, but no one actually ever cares about whatever nonsense you’re rambling on about this week. Don’t you know that especially powerful cultivators can affect the mind of the weak-willed?”

Lan Qiren blinked. What a strange coincidence, both his brother and Sect Leader Wen mentioning the exact same thing. “Yes,” he said. “I know. In fact –”

“I don’t want to hear another one of your stupid citations,” his brother said, cutting him off, and making Lan Qiren feel stupid and resentful again – he hadn’t even been about to cite anything! “Anyone who’s ever met you can figure out that you’re little better than a half-wit, all right? Wen Ruohan is a petty person, capable of anything, even only on a whim. Don’t spend time alone with him. Consider it another rule.”

“You don’t have the authority to make rules!”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” his brother snapped, and Lan Qiren bowed his head, acknowledging the point. “Now do me a favor and stay here until the conference is over – I should be back with the rest of them, acting in Father’s place as the sects divide up the spoils. I can’t believe I’m here taking care of you again instead.”

Lan Qiren wrung his hands together. He hadn’t intended anything like that. “Xiongzhang –”

“Have I made myself clear?”

“…yes, xiongzhang.”

“Good.” His brother was on his sword and flying back towards the forest before Lan Qiren could even blink. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.

Lan Qiren supposed he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like Lan Qiren was going anywhere.

At least, not yet. He was already thirteen – less than ten years and he’d be advanced enough to go anywhere he liked, to be a traveling musician and cultivator the way he’d always planned. He’d be able to help people and spend time with anyone he liked, or not spend time with anyone at all if he didn’t feel like it, and there would be nothing his brother could do to stop him.

[ckbookish]

BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost 

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim. 

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide 

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones. 

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute 

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

or

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call. 

6 Two-face: The Better Choice 

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat? 

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself. 

  8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?” 

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message 

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true.  That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs 

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.   

13 Dad:  Storge 

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily.  The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way. 

 “Your dad must have his hands full with you.”  Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.  

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view.  It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world.  The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield...  Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad.  But he wasn’t. 

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning 

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.   

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing 

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.   

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard.  The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway.  Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter.  He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it.  Wolverhampton.  

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been.  Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.  

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.   

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.   

23 Kidnapped:  Chum 

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing. 

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

[starryeyedweeb]

Valentine’s Day With Jujutsu Kaisen

*DISCLAIMER*: As I’m over eighteen, I write all underaged characters aged up to be eighteen or older.

Contains: As always with me, a ridiculous amount of fluff; gender neutral

Characters Included: Gojou Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji

A Valentine’s Day with...

Gojou Satoru

Gojou was the type to always have a date on Valentine’s Day, but this was his first time spending it with someone he was actually committed to

As a result of this experience, he was really good at Valentine’s Day, but this time he wanted to do something he’d never done before, and make it truly special for you

He actually started preparing weeks in advance, and had to hide his YouTube history so that you wouldn’t catch on to the surprise he had in store for you

The only hint he gave you as the date drew nearer was that you’d be going somewhere with a black tie dress code

“I know it’s a cliché, but I’d love to see you in something red, dear.”

When Valentine’s Day finally arrives, you start the night off with the usual, unassuming, upscale dinner

Though he won’t give anything away, you have a sneaking feeling that there’s more to the night than Gojou is letting on

When dinner is finished, he drives the two of you to an area of town you’ve never been to before, and pulls into the lot of a dance hall

Not a nightclub- an actual ballroom

Inside, a swarm of glamorously dressed couples swirl gracefully to the romantic music, creating a dizzying yet beautiful scene

“What is this?” you nervously ask Gojou, suddenly feeling very out of place

“It’s my surprise,” he replies with a half-mischievous, half-proud grin. “I passed this ballroom while on a job, and I’ve wanted to take you here ever since. And for the past few weeks, I’ve spent my free time learning the steps so that I could bring you here and dance with you.”

“But Satoru, I don’t know the steps!”

“All you have to do is follow my lead.” He wraps his arm around your waist and leads you out onto the floor, deftly spinning you into a dance position. “It’s easier than you think, I promise.”

After a few moments of halting steps and a few trod-on toes, Gojou’s prediction turns out to be right, and you’re able to sink comfortably into the dance

The feeling of Satoru’s broad stride driving the two of you across the floor is exhilirating, and being wrapped in his arms and staring into his dazzling eyes leaves you in absolute bliss

The two of you dance for hours, giggling all the way, until you’re one of the last ones left in the ballroom

When you finally decide to call it a night, you realize just how much your feet hurt

So Gojou piggybacks you out to the car, where you nearly fall asleep

“I take it you had a good time, then?” Gojou asks cheekily, resting his hand on your thigh as he starts the engine.

“Mm,” you reply. “Can we go back?”

“We can make it our regular weekend spot if you want to.”

“Let’s do that.” You sigh happily. “Satoru? I love you.”

His fingers find your hand, and he brings it up to his mouth to kiss it.

“I love you too, baby.”

Fushiguro Megumi

Megumi had never had a reason to celebrate Valentine’s Day before, and admittedly, he was more nervous than excited for his first go at it

As a couple, the two of you were very low-key, and neither of you really had any interest in being involved in the big holiday crowd

So Megumi thought up a way to celebrate that would suit your introverted souls

“Why don’t we get out out of the city tonight?”

“I’m down for that. Where are you thinking?”

“I have something in mind.” A blush starts to dust his cheeks. “It’ll be a surprise.”

As dark starts to fall on Valentine’s night, the two of you stop by a konbini to get a multitude of your favorite snacks before hopping on the train

It’s initially packed with other couples en route to their dates, but the car gets emptier and emptier as the stops go by

You end up resting your head on Megumi’s shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around you

“Oi, don’t fall asleep before we even get there,” he murmurs gently.

“Sorry. I’m just relaxed.” You slip one of your hands into his jacket pocket. “Are we getting close?”

“Yeah, we are.”

When the train reaches the stop for the beach, Megumi pulls you up and, with his hand in yours, guides you out of the station

He walks you all the way down to the edge of the water, spreads out a blanket, and begins to build a small bonfire

Once the flames are crackling merrily, the two of you sit down on the blanket and cozy up next to each other, another blanket wrapped around both of your shoulders

Never once breaking physical contact with each other, you stare out at the waves, sharing your snacks and having Deep Conversations About Life

Which was honestly your favorite thing to do together

As the flames get lower and lower, you have to nuzzle closer and closer for warmth and protection against the sea breeze

Eventually, your head ends up back on his shoulder, and he presses a sweet kiss to your crown

“Was this a good Valentine’s Day?” he murmurs, his breath warm on your face

“Of course.” You sigh contentedly. “It was perfect.”

Itadori Yuuji

When I tell you that Yuuji was so excited for Valentine’s Day

Pretty much the moment New Year’s was over he started talking about plans

He did some research and found out that a roller skating rink was having a special Valentine’s event, and he asked so eagerly if you wanted to go

He seemed so elated at the idea that you couldn’t have said no even if you wanted to

In preparation for the event, he looked up all of the skating videos on social media for inspiration, and arrives to pick you up looking straight out of the 70′s

When the two of you arrive at the rink and strap on your skates, it comes to no surprise to you that, even though Yuuji had never put on skates in his life, he was impossibly good at it

You, on the other hand, take a moment to find your bearings, but get the hang of it eventually

But as much as he loves you and wants to skate by your side, Yuuji is sort of annoyed with having to go slow, and wants nothing more than to speed skate around the rink

“Hey, babe. Can you grab my waist?”

“What? Why?”

“Just grab my waist. And hold on tight.”

“Yuuji, what are yo-”

Your words turn into a scream as he takes off, speeding around the rink with you trailing behind

He’s sure enough on his feet to maneuver you safely, though, and you end up dissolving into laughter at the thrill of being propelled around the rink by your ridiculously athletic boyfriend

Until the lights dim and the music changes for a designated “slow dance,” and he abruptly reduces his speed to almost nothing, causing you to ram into the back of him and knock him over

The two of you end up tangled in a giggling mess on the floor, blocking the pathways of other couples trying to skate, but you couldn’t care less

“Are you okay?” he asks through his laughs.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply, trying to catch your breath. “What about you?”

“I’m good.” He finds his way back to his feet, and holds out a hand to help you up. “Come on. We’ll take it slow for a little bit.”

With swirling pink heart patterns lighting up the floor and a cheesy love song playing in the background, the two of you skate the perimeter of the rink, hand-in-hand

But Yuuji keeps staring at you with a silly smile on his face

“What do you keep looking at?” you finally demand, giggling

“Nothing. You’re just pretty.” He shrugs. “I feel really lucky tonight.”

You feel your heart melt a little bit, and you would’ve given him a kiss if it didn’t mean that you would fall yet again

When the music speeds back up, you request a short break so you can get something to drink

Yuuji helps you out of the rink and sits you down on a bench, then glides over to the concession stand, returning with an obnoxiously large pink slushie, with two heart-shaped crazy straws poking out of the top

“I forgot to ask you something.” He announces as he sits on the bench next to you, holding the cup out. “Will you be my Valentine?”

You throw your head back and laugh, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek

“Of course I will.”

[cheesy-cakey]

Before Challenging the gym

Rosedome city gym-

The gym is closed and you see two people outside.

Ace: Hey! you're here to challenge the Rosedome city gym? well you're out of luck today.

Deuce: Gym Leader Riddle is at an unbirthday party and all the staff are invited... why are we here then?

Ace: Well we were told to watch over the place and tell challengers no one's here.

Deuce: No it's cause you caused a scene last time so now we're serving punishment for that by not being invited.

Ace: You have a package from Professor Crowley? well if you really need to see Riddle the unbirthday is being held in the rose garden at the square.

Deuce: Just go down that path.

Adeuce: CYA!

Afterclaw Savannah Gym-

Upon arriving to Afterclaw Savannah you saw someone frantically looking around seeming frustrated.

Ruggie: Ughhhhh where is he this time?

he turned and saw you.

Ruggie: Have you seen someone with brown hair and green eyes anywhere? he has sort of a wild appearance. seen em? no? haaaah where did he run off to this time.

He then rushed off to look for the one he's looking for.

Soon another person walked up to you.

Jack: You seem confused about what just happened. he's looking for the Afterclaw Savannah Gym leader, Leona. He tends to wander off to take a nap somewhere. you're here to challenge the gym? well if you want to challenge the gym you have to find the gym leader first.

he shrugged and left.

ask around if they've seen him.

found him in a greenhouse.

Coravinelle City Gym-

Someone had recommended to visit the underwater museum that is full of the cities history.

While looking at some of the pictures you bump into a tall man... two tall men.

Jade: Apologies, I wasn't looking where I was going.

Floyd: heeeey, Jade. they're so small! like a wishiwashi.

Jade: You don't seem like your from here, Are you just visiting? Your all the way from Night Raven Town?

Floyd: haaaah? Little Wishiwashi came all the way from that small town?

he questioned as he picked you up looking at you closer.

Then bam. headbutting the rude man then dropped you.

Floyd: GWAH! The little Wishiwashi is like a goldeen now.

holding his forehead.

Jade: You had it coming, Floyd. So what brings you to our prosperous city?.... You're traveling to collect all the gym badges?

Floyd: Then that means little Wishiwashi is going to challenge Azul's gym right, Jade? That means you have to battle us to get to him! I'm not going easy on you after what you just pulled wishiwashi~

Jade: Indeed, Floyd. Well why don't you tell Azul yourself that you wish to challenge him? He's all the way at Sea Witch exhibit.

Scarab Desert Gym-

Walking around town you soon see a Pokémon zoom through the air.

While being distracted you had no idea of the person about to run into you.

Jamil: KALIM! Ack!

falling over you look up to see someone. Hurriedly getting up

Jamil: KALIM! Get back here! aaaand he's gone... great

The man sighed then looked at you.

Jamil: Sorry, I was trying to chase someone after they just ditched what they were supposed to do... You want to know where the Scarab Desert Gym is? I have to apologize but it just closed... unintentionally... why? well the one I was chasing was, Kalim. The Gym's gym leader during the day... If you wish to challenge the gym you might have to wait since I still have to go find them... You want to help? If you wish, he's usually out on the desert looking for an oasis to play with Pokémon. goodluck.

Pyfiore City Gym-

Upon arriving at the Gym someone came out.

Epel: Hm? oh are you a challenger? sorry but Gym Leader Vil is at a photoshoot right now. where? Well he's doing a photoshoot for a perfume brand that's from Rosedome city... when will he be back? well we don't exactly know. sometimes after a photoshoot he tends to go through the shopping district of the city before coming back... if you want you could go see him and tell him that you want to have a gym challenge... well good luck.

Isle of Igni Gym-

While walking around and looking at the gloomy but high tech city you bump into someone.

you look up to see a child surrounded by parts and rubbing his head.

getting onto your feet you help him up.

Ortho: Thank you! Not many people around here help when bumping to people. they get embarrassed and run away. huh? you're not from here? Oh! you're from Night Raven town? ISN'T THAT WHERE PROFESSOR CROWLEY DO HIS RESEARCH AT!? Is that a Pokédex!? Uwaaahhh... You should get it updated by my brother! c'mon! oh wait I still have to carry these parts to him... you'll help? thank you! Now let's go to the gym! why? well that's cause my brother is the gym leader! he's so cool! Did you know my brother helped create the Pokédex your holding right now? pretty cool huh! he also designed the pc. and almost everything you see on this island! You're going to challenge the gym? Your 6th gym badge!? Amazing! why don't you meet my brother first THEN you can challenge him. you still have to go through the gym task of course.

Somnia Valley Gym-

let's just say you met while going around the valley at night.

Didn't know who he was until you went to challenge the gym.

Ramshackle Forest Gym-

You arrive at the gym to be greeted by a young boy.

Grim: You're here to challenge the gym? well you're in luck! I'm the Ramshackle Forest's Gym leader! Grim the Great!

then a slender older man wearing a suit, cape and a top hat came out.

Ghost A: Grim are you telling people that you're the gym leader again?

Grim: Geh! no I'm not!

then another man that was a bit chubbier but shorter wearing the same outfit came out.

Ghost B: He definitely was.... you actually believed he was the gym leader?

Ghost A: he's not. he's an apprentice under the actual gym leader... who are we? well you can call me Ghost Uncle A!

Ghost B: Ghost Uncle B.

then soon someone entered the gym. he was similar to ghost B but taller.

Ghost C: Eh? why are you all standing at the entrance?... oh no no I'm not the gym leader... who am I? well call me Ghost Uncle C. The one your looking for is Gym Leader, Yuu. We had actually taken him in back then and trained him to be the gym leader. This used to be a trio gym but after we retired we appointed our what we consider adoptive son the gym.

Ghost B: What about this little one? your talking about Grim? well Yuu found him in the forest lost for some reason then he decided to take him in saying he's going to do the same thing as we did.

Ghost A: anyways, where is Yuu? didn't you go with him C?

Ghost C: He said that the spirits said there would be someone looking for him and asked me to tell the challenger who entered to go to the willow tree woods. and I'm guessing it would be you. You can find the path to willow woods on the northern side of town. here take this if you ever get lost just blow this whistle. a drifloom would come pick you up... the drifloom can't exactly take you TO him since they only know how to follow the whistle and come back here... if you need we can have a litwick follow you to make it brighter.

after that you walk out the gym and start heading north.

Ghost Uncles: GOODLUCK KIDDO!

I love making these headcanons they're so much fun

[danikindofwrites]

Delivering a 🎁 (present) and a 📦 (package) to your inbox 😉 (for all of them or just whomever you feel like doing)

Hope you're well!! ❤️

Hey Albie! ❤️ I'm doing really well right now, I hope you are too! Ahh this one got long because the present one got a little out of hand, but I kept it to just the RO's and then some of the rest of the cast for package because they were really fun :') 🎁&📦 from this ask list

🎁 PRESENT- what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving? Just the RO's

Enoc: He's really simple when it comes to gifts, giving him something practical like new inkpots, pens, bags are always a good gift to him, he also appreciates having old things renewed such as a favorite cloak or boots that he's worn to threads. He's pretty much the same with gift giving, which can be good and bad, all of his gifts would be useful or he knows you've run out of recently and use a lot, there is the few cases that he does go out of his way to give a gift if its an item he's noticed you keep going back to but end up ignoring, but it is rare occurrence.

Rowul: They love gifts, it doesn't even usually matter what kind of gift it is, but they highly appreciate things like old antiques or relics, things that have history to them or a story they can appreciate that they can think back on every time they look at it. In turn they also love lavishing gifts on others for no reason at all other than it was something they thought of and was pretty or interesting, so there's lots of expensive clothing pieces, rare manuscripts, pretty jewelry and spices or foods that are unique being gifted to you if you are close to them.

Eowulf: She loves gifts that bring out memories, even if it doesn't make sense to other people and you gift her something strange like a stick and she knows what it means between the two of you, she'll laugh and put it somewhere she can see it again, but she also appreciates gifts that go with any new hobbies she's always switching between as she appreciates you putting up with her ever changing interests. For gift giving on the other hand she likes making things to give, carvings, paintings, she even tried her hand at forging items and though they are crude at best she will gift them anyway and say its a statement piece.

Sigunn: You want to make it into Sigunn's heart gift them anything historical and old, even if it looks like it's falling a part or covered in dirt and faded, in fact that almost makes it better, they will moon over it for centuries. They love giving gifts but it's usually something like tomes, charts, or plants, as that's what they have an abundance of and they want to share it with you given the chance, anything they found intriguing and they want you to also experience the joy they got from it.

Wilorin: They don't mind gifts, though they will repeatedly tell others not to give them anything you can tell they are begrudgingly touched by those that ignore them and get them something meaningful anyway as long as it is small and not expensive, they also won't except joke gifts and will make a show of dumping them out. They don't like giving items, but if they really want to show their appreciation to you they will take you to see or do something instead, give an experience instead of an item, so they will come up to you randomly and tell you there's a new market coming through or a theatre play in town and take you to it.

Belos: You could literally just get them a new sword or a dagger and they would be so happy but if you really wanted to hit the nail on the head, get it engraved with something sentimental between the two of you and they will never let it out of their sight. They don't like giving gifts, but mainly just because they get anxious that whoever they are gifting will hate it and so they overthink the process and end up backing out, but the times that they do gift someone an item its usually small or delicate, like a pendent, bracelet or ring, something they saw others gifting to people that they figured was a safe enough bet that they won't get in trouble for not getting anything flashy or specific.

📦 PACKAGE- what are some “most likely to…” that can apply to them? RO's + side cast

Enoc: -Most likely to be called "mom" by the group -Most likely to have an embarrassing tattoo -Most likely to be believed while obviously lying

Rowul: -Most likely to get lost and then locked in a museum -Most likely to fake their death -Most likely to date two people at once

Sigunn: -Most likely to feign illness to get out of work -Most likely to live the longest -Most likely to marry rich and plan an unfortunate accident

Eowulf: -Most likely to win at board games/cards/gambling -Most likely to have a messy room -Most likely to survive in the wilderness

Wilorin: -Most likely to make a sandwich for an intruder -Most likely to get a message and never reply -Most likely to get struck by lightning

Belos: -Most likely to burn water while cooking -Most likely to train themselves to fall asleep as soon as they close their eyes -Most likely to adopt a child

Koske: -Most likely to win a bar brawl -Most likely to believe in vampires and werewolves -Most likely to be convinced to cross-dress for a mission

Jeivanni: -Most likely to crack a joke during a serious conversation -Most likely to give everyone nicknames - Most likely to always have alcohol on them Beckett: -Most likely to be returned after being kidnapped because they "talked too much" -Most likely to eat something that was on the ground -Most likely to adopt a feral animal

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon:  Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance. 

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground. 

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face. 

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there. 

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student. 

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence. 

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside. 

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have. 

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take. 

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them. 

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country. 

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow. 

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age. 

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. 

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one. 

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks. 

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days. 

“Anyone know what caused it?” 

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again. 

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on. 

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh. 

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds. 

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down. 

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is. 

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once. 

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand. 

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

                                                    ---------------------

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed. 

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share. 

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking. 

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him. 

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted. 

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers. 

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck. 

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?” 

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no. 

“Din. Call me Din.” 

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's. 

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do. 

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help. 

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate. 

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case. 

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town. 

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by. 

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that. 

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu. 

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food. 

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him. 

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze. 

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now. 

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about. 

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed. 

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café. 

                                                   ---------------------

Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him. 

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school. 

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well. 

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile. 

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller. 

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it. 

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…” 

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide. 

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course. 

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache. 

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace. 

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso. 

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble. 

                                                   ---------------------

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be? 

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight. 

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind. 

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did. 

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?” 

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak. 

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness. 

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way. 

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known. 

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town. 

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety. 

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled. 

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls. 

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself. 

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself. 

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit. 

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh. 

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.” 

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it. 

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down. 

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.” 

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you. 

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong. 

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover. 

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built. 

                                                   ---------------------

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were. 

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’. 

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself. 

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes. 

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you. 

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back. 

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming. 

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough. 

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place. 

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them. 

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you. 

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.  

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless. 

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity. 

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.” 

                                                   ---------------------

Mando’a Translations

 Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent. 

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

                                                   --------------------- 

Taglist for this fic: 

@lex-ham​

[avenging-criminal-bones]

After All This Time || Chapter Four

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2128

CHAPTER WARNINGS: hehe i don't wanna spoil it, but angst, language, case talk, the usual

A/N: This is the longest chapter so far, and honestly it took less time than some of the other ones. I got really into it.

TAGLIST:

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AS ALWAYS, Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

* * * * *

Halfway to the drive you remember to ask, "So who are we interviewing at the school?"

"James O'Malley, who is the principal, and Margaret Solokowski, one of three first grade teachers." His response is automated as he looks to the right out the window.

Your mind drifted back to the case from when you were only nine. It was the reason you wanted to be involved with S.W.A.T or the FBI.

Your brother was playing in a sand pit at the local playground when you turned around to go buy the two of you some ice cream cones from the truck driving slowly past.

There was a priest with a group of nuns walking through the park, discussing something about the "Lord's Will". You didn't believe in any of that stuff then, so you rolled your eyes and told the nice man what ice creams you wanted.

"There you go, kiddie."

"Thank you!"

Spinning on your heel, you licked your own ice cream as you went to get back to Joey, your brother.

Something was wrong though. When you looked, he wasn't there anymore. He had been playing with a group of three kids, and none of them were there anymore. Turning back around you remember the Priest had been driving away with the nuns. You saw the two other childrens' mothers crying and talking, flailing their arms wildly at each other.

"Joey? Joey where are you," you wandered around the play set for a minute and started crying when you couldn't find him.

Wandering up to one of the adults scattered through the play area, a mother with a small baby in her arms, and said, "Can-" a sniffle before, "Can I borrow your phone? I need to call my mom."

"Of course, honey," she shuffled the little girl to her other hip and grabbed the phone from her other pocket. "Here you go sweetie. Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Uh, thank you. I'll bring it right back."

Taking a few steps away you called your mother's house number, suddenly grateful for the pressure she had put on you from a young age to remember her house number and her cell number.

"Mom-"

Hey, honey,- what? What's going on?"

"Mom, I can't find Joey. He's not here. I just walked ten steps to get our ice cream and he's- I can't find him, mom. And the other two kids were gone too. I don't know what to do, he's gone. Mom-"

"Honey?"

"I can't find-"

"Y/N!" You finally stop rambling and quiet down enough to hear your mom's voice and your own heartbeat. "We'll find him, okay? Tell whoever's phone this is what happened, and then wait there for me okay? Ask the lady you borrowed this from to call the police and help you explain what happened and I'll be right over there okay? It will take me five minutes, okay?"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too, Peanut."

Hanging up the phone you do as she told you and explained your situation to the kind woman with the baby. She agreed to help you call the police, even though the other parents had probably already done it.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

"Y/N? Hey. Y/N! You missed the turn..."

You snap out of your flashback and look around you at the road.

"What?"

Hotch let out and annoyed puff of air and pointed to the road that you were about to drive past. "That's our turn. You know, to get to the school. That's right there."

Mumbling under your breath you turn the signal on and slam the breaks after seeing there was no one behind you. You smirk to yourself when you see that the man in the passenger seat had to throw his arm out so as not to hit the dashboard.

"Agent, if you do not drive this vehicle with care, I will personally revoke your privilege of driving on the clock," he threatens as he adjusts the lapels on his suit jacket.

You ignore him and park in front of the school, getting out and straightening your own blazer.

"You let me do the talking, L/N." He declares as he brushes past you, not bothering to hold the door on his way.

Murmuring under your breath, you follow him in.

Almost immediately, you are stopped by someone from campus security and flash your badges in reply. The guard simply nods and sends you through, pointing to the principal's office.

"Mr. O'Malley? I'm SSA Aaron Hothcner, and this is Agent L/N. We are here from the BAU in Quantico investigating the homicides that I'm sure you've heard about. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions about the victims; they were all students here." Hotch's air of professionalism was back full force rather than his childish antics only five minutes ago.

O'Malley shakes his head slightly, a red tint coming to his ears as his eyes scan the clock. "Actually, I don't have the time right now. I have another meeting coming up shortly-"

"Sir, your meeting isn't for another fifteen minutes," the secretary states before turning back to you and Hotch, "Surely that's enough time for you and your partner to ask him a few questions?" The young woman looks at you when she speaks, her eyes silently pleading. She must know something as well.

"No, Anne. I really don't have time for that-"

"Hotchner, if you want to talk to Mr. O'Malley, maybe I could ask," you pause, reading her desk tag, "Ms. Brink a few questions?"

She nods her head eagerly, and as much as Hotch wanted to argue, he has seen her desperate look as well and would have suggested splitting up if you hadn't.

"I was just about to say that. Mr. O'Malley is there somewhere we could go that's a bit more private?" Hotch questions, signaling behind him, "If that's a break room that would be perfect."

O'Malley nods, standing up. He walks towards the door, opening it as he turns back to look at the you and Hotch. There's a glint of something in his eyes and-

And he's running.

"Go! Hotch, go, go, GO!" Before you even finish urging him to chase the principal he's running after the man. "Anne, if you know anything suspicious about James O'Malley you need to tell me, and you need to tell me now."

Tears well in the younger woman's eyes as she nods, fists bunching in the skirt of her peach colored dress. "He, uh. He has made- you know. S-sexual advances on a few young girls. He did the same to me, b-but when he d-did it to me he said he would kill the next girl that w-was in here if I told..." Anne breaks into sobs as she hangs her head low.

"Anne, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You were only trying to protect these girls and yourself. This has been extremely helpful, thank you, Ms. Brink." Gently you reach over and squeeze her hand, sliding a box of tissues towards her before quickly slipping out of the office.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you call Garcia.

"BAU Sperm Donation: You jack 'em, we pack 'em. How can I help you my pretty?"

You don't have time to laugh, though you so badly wanted to. "Pen, I need to to pull everything you can find about James O'Malley. He's the-"

"School principle of Opportunity Elementary. He's 37 years old, comes from a highly religious background- Papa Bear was a Priest. He- oh boy. Oh no. This is not good." You hear computer keys clacking on the other end before you prompt her to keep speaking.

"Yeah, Pen? What's not good?"

"This guy," she clicks her tongue, "And his entire recent history when you deep-dive in my Fancy Google. This guy is on review for child molestation and rape charges."

You slam your fist against the nearby wall and curse lowly, "Do you have any large property in his name? Anything big enough to have some sort of shrine, or altar? Also, with enough room to... oh God... cleanly chop off a-"

"Ah! AH! Stop! I get it. I'm looking."

After a moment she sighs, "Bingo! 142 Walnut St. right outside of the town that the school is in. Twelve minutes and forty-three seconds from your current location. I'll ping the directions to you and notify the rest of the team. They are slightly further away, so you and your partner should get there first. Hurry, Y/N, he might have another kid there."

"Bye, Pen." You hang up and start running to the SUV, surprised to see Hotch there, already waiting in the passenger seat. You wonder why he hadn't sat on the other side and remember about the key in your pocket.

Getting in, you slam the door, not bothering to buckle and say, "Take my phone and pull up the directions from Pen. That's where our guy is going, she think he has another child based on video footage from this morning's video feed of the back entrance of his office."

Hotch surprisingly doesn't argue, instead doing exactly as he was told while you sped in the direction you had come from before.

Withing ten minutes you had made it to the house, not saying a word to Hotch as your mind ran through all of the possibilities of what you'd find. This was your first child case since you moved to the BAU and honestly you weren't handling it very well.

When you made it to the barn, you snatched your gun from your holster and kept it aimed towards the ground. Motioning to Hotch you signal that he should go left and you will go right.

Clearly, he didn't like you making all the calls, but he was so upset about losing the guy the first time around that he didn't have it in him to command you down.

Beginning your move-in, you start to circle the barn just how you had told Hotch and kept your gun up as you crept towards the final turn to the back of the barn. Out of the corner of your eye you see the rest of the team start to jog over to the barn from the forest behind the bar, they must have decided to use a different entrance as hopes to catch O'Malley off guard.

Taking a moment to steel yourself you keep your back against the side of the barn before spinning in a quick step to raise your gun again and aim at the final possibility of where he could be-

But it was just Hotchner.

"L/N, he must be inside, turn back the way you came and we'll go in together." His voice is stern as you nod in compliance and turn around, raising your gun as you see a little boy. With a gun trained on him...

It's Joey. Joey is there dead in front of the church, a big cross burned into his chest... his five year old body.

That's all you see, just like that day so many years ago. That's all you see, so you jump forward in front of him and you-

Fall. You fall. And you can't tell why.

Blood, there's blood under you. Who's hurt?

"Y/N! Oh my God, Y/N!" Anything between your name being said the first and second time is lost in your fuzzy ears.

You don't realize why the voice is yelling at you until you feel the burning, fire-like pain, radiating up your left side.

After a moment, you feel hands on your shoulders, one of them moving to slap you in the face a few times to get your eyes to open, which they did.

"Hey, you need to stay awake. Okay? Y/N! Open your eyes. Look at me." Emily transfers her hands to your hip, pressing down on the wound there roughly. Your body instinctively crunches up to get away from the new, uncomfortable pain, but Emily presses down on your chest, keeping you to the floor.

You try to mumble something, but the second your mouth opens, it's as if you completely lost your voice.

"Shh, Y/N, you're going to be okay, you just need to keep your eyes open okay?

"What the hell, Aaron?! You were standing right there, man, why didn't you go to her?! She was fucking shot and you just stood there! You're our leader, start fucking acting like one!" You can't pick out all the words, but you can tell that it's Derek's voice and you smirk to yourself.

The last thing you heard before passing out was Derek ripping into Hotchner like you'd been waiting to for months.

[hushedhands]

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

[kimoralov3]

Hello, Old Friend

Requested by: @nuclearpizza84

Word Count: 2449

Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr x gn!black!mutant!reader

espèce d'imbécile = idiot in french according to google translate

Warnings: swearing, talks of attempted murder, mention of racial slurs

Charles’ POV

“Who’s the next person on our list?” Erik asked as he sat in one of the chairs, propping his feet up on my desk. I pushed his feet off of my desk then picked up the notebook filled with mutants we could possibly recruit.

“Someone by the name of (Y/N) (Y/LN). They live in Atlanta, Georgia, and as of now it doesn't seem as if they have a job."

"(Y/N)? I used to know someone with that name. Do you have a guess as to what their mutation may be?" Erik sat up straighter in the chair. Oh, now he's interested now that this person has the same name as an old friend of his?

"No I don't, but I guess we shall find out soon. If we want to make it there and back before midday tomorrow, we should leave in the next 30 minutes." Erik nodded and stood up, walking towards the door. "What if this person happens to be your old friend?"

"If this is the same (Y/N) as the one I know, they'll need a lot more convincing than us being in the same boat as them. They're quite stubborn in that way." Erik said as he stopped and turned to face me.

"Like you?" I asked as I titled my head to the side slightly. Erik glared at me before exiting the room, not bothering shutting the door behind him. There was definitely something else going on between Erik and his supposed old friend.

----

Erik's POV

I stepped out of the car, buttoning up my coat as I took in my surroundings. We had taken a taxi to a small town, not too far from Atlanta. There was a corner store across from us, some restaurants down the street, and a combined book/coffee shop. Of course you would run away here. It's the perfect place to escape from your past. 

"Well, it certainly is quite lovely here. According to Cerebro, (Y/N) comes here every other week to get some more books for the orphanage across town. Very nice of them." Charles said as he made his way towards the book/coffee shop. I followed him, taking one last look at the street before stepping inside.

One half of the shop was filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves, all marked with whatever genre of book filled the shelves. If we were to walk about a foot forward, we'd be standing directly in front of the white and grey display case. There was a counter attached where the coffee machine sat. The back of other side of the shop was filled with bean bag chairs and pillows, while the front is where the tables and chairs sat. 

"Welcome gentlemen, would you like a cup of- Erik?" A voice said as they came from the back. I turned my attention towards the owner of the voice and smiled.

"Hello, (Y/N). How have you been?"

"Wow, he wasn't lying, he actually has friends. I'm impressed." Charles said with a hint of mockery in his tone.

"Erik, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to never look for each other again." (Y/N) asked as they walked around the counter to stand in front of us.

"Well that was then, and this is now. We need your help." I said. They haven't changed a bit. 

"Oh, I've heard that before. You can fuck off Erik, I'm never helping you again." They said as they glared up at me. You always did look cute when you were upset.

"I don't know what the history between the two of you is, but he's not asking for your help. I am. In return I'm offering to help you control your mutation. If we could sit down I could explain everything further." Charles said as he looked between the two of us.

"Mutation? What are you talking about, I don't have any type of mutation. And who even are you?" (Y/N) asked as they finally turned their attention towards Charles, giving him a once over.

"I'm Charles Xavier. You see, the three of us all have a gene- well, a mutated gene- that gives us specific abilities. I'm a telepath, and Erik can control metal." 

"You're crazy. The whole time Erik and I worked together, he never showed signs of having any special 'abilities'. Other than being an asshole." (Y/N)'s lips curled into a slight smirk at the insult.

"It's not my fault you kept getting in the way." I said.

"You pushed me off a fucking train, Erik. I think it's safe to say that that wasn't my fault."

"You're the one who wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. I told you to stay in the train and wait for me, but you just couldn't follow directions." 

"So you decided that the safest bet was to push me off a moving train?"

"Exactly."

"Erik, you're not helping. (Y/N), I understand that you probably don't trust Erik, but you can trust me. If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. So what do you say?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, looking between the two of us. I was beginning to think that they'd say no and kick us out, but they finally came to a decision. "Fine, I'll help. As long as Erik doesn't double cross me. Again."

Charles looked at me expectedly, making me roll my eyes. Please, we need all the help we can get. Charles communicated to me telepathically. "Fine, I won't double cross you."

"Excellent! (Y/N,) let's take a taxi to your place so you can gather some of your things. On the way, I can tell you all about my research and what exactly it is we're doing here. I'm sure you'll find it all very interesting." Charles said as he led (Y/N) out of the shop. 

"You coming, espèce d'imbécile?" (Y/N) asked as they got in the taxi. I snapped out of whatever trance I was in and got in the taxi.

----

(Y/N)'s POV

Charles had spent both taxi rides and most of the plane ride explaining his findings about mutants. To be honest, I didn't understand most of it, but he seemed excited to share this information with someone new, so I wasn't going to stop him. All I knew was that I had another reason for people to call me a freak. Once the plane landed, Charles drove us to his house- excuse me, I mean mansion. "Well shit. You lived here by yourself?" I asked as I got out of the car. 

"Well, not entirely. I have a sister named Raven, you'll meet her soon." Charles said as we walked inside. I can't believe I'm in a fucking mansion. If only my parents could see me now. 

"Oh good, you're back! Hello there, I'm Raven." The blond girl said as she smiled brightly and ran over to me and gave me a hug. I was shocked for a second, but I quickly hugged her back. Is this usually how people greet each other?

"I'm (Y/N), it's nice to meet you. You're Charles' sister, right?" I asked as she pulled away. She nodded and turned to Charles. 

"The boys are sitting in the kitchen. Can you take (Y/N)'s stuff to their room while I introduce them to everyone else?" She asked him. He nodded and grabbed my suitcases, walking somewhere down the hall. She then turned to Erik. "Are the two of you getting along well?"

Erik scoffed. "Me and Charles or me and (Y/N)? Because me and Charles are getting along swimmingly, but (Y/N) is being a bit dramatic if you ask me."

"Says the man who spent 30 minutes crying because he lost track of some stupid guy." I shot back quickly. Erik's jaw clenched as he gave me a once over, then walked in the same direction that Charles went.

"Well that was rude of him. Anyway, come on, let's go meet the rest of the boys." She said as she grabbed my hand and tugged me towards the kitchen. One boy was standing in front of the sink with a beer in his hand, another one with glasses sitting at the table with a bunch of files in front of him, and a messy brown haired boy digging through the fridge. "Boys, we have a new friend. Introduce yourselves please."

"Alex." The boy with the beer said.

The boy rummaging through the fridge stood up, holding a bottle of water in one hand and waving at me with the other. "I'm Seth."

"I'm Hank, nice to meet you." He gave me an awkward smile.

"(Y/N), nice to meet you all." 

"So, what are your special abilities?" Alex asked as he threw the bottle in the trash.

"Anatomy manipulation. You?" They all looked at me like I was crazy. Did I say something wrong?

"A-Anatomy manipulation? That's a pretty violent thing." Hank said as he pushed his glasses to sit correctly on his nose.

"Yeah, it can get pretty ugly. That's why I don't really like to use them. Hurting people isn't really my style."

"I learned that the hard way." Erik's voice came from behind us. I swear this man gets on my fucking nerves.

"Hey Erik. Did you need something?" Raven asked as she turned around to face him. She is definitely interested in him. 

"I would like to speak to (Y/N) in my room."

"Why would I go anywhere with you. You gonna try and kill me again or something?"

"I promised not to, remember? Now come with me." He grabbed my hand and dragged me to his room, closing the door behind us and locking it. First of all, that's creepy. Second of all he could've given me a chance to walk without him dragging me along like I'm some child.

"What do you want, Erik?" I asked as I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I want to apologize. For being an ass. And for anything else I might have done that caused you pain. Will you forgive me?" He said. His words were rushed, he stumbled a little and he seemed out of breath. He must not be used to having to apologize for his actions. Typical.

I stared at him for a moment, switching my focus between his eyes before speaking. "Well I'm not going to say that I forgive you, but I'm glad that you decided to apologize. What made you want to do that?"

"Charles helped me see something that I couldn't see before. Although there's something I need to do to prove his theory."

"And what's that? Be nice to everyone for a day? Well good luck with that because the day that you're nice to people is the day that hell freezes over." 

"Has anyone ever told you that you make things extremely difficult?" Erik asked as he looked down at you. Why did he have to be so tall? 

"No, but then again I've never had to work with someone as stubborn as you."

"Oh I'm the stubborn one? Aren't you the one who refused to leave a bar until the bartender apologized for calling you that horrid word? Then when he finally did mutter out a half assed apology, you still wouldn't leave? Or am I just remembering things incorrectly?" Erik stated, his smile growing bigger at each sentence. I chuckled and shook my head.

"You see, that was different. He called us both slurs, and I wasn't just going to let him get away with that. Plus you know you enjoyed it, you sat there laughing the whole time." I said as I poked him in his chest. 

"I always did love the way you would stand up for what you thought was right." 

"Oh, so you don't hate me? Well there's a shock. You are full of surprises today, aren't you?"

"Why would I hate you? You're the closest thing to a friend I have at the moment."

"If I'm the closest thing you have to a friend, you seriously need to work on your social skills."

"Yeah, Charles said the same thing. Just a lot more complicated, honestly I stopped listening about a minute in. He tends to take the long way of explaining things."

"I think he's just excited to be with other people. He's been alone in this big house with only one other person to talk to. I'd be happy to be around other people too."

"That's fair. So what have you been up to since the last time we talked?" Erik asked as he sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. I sat down and smiled at him.

"You mean since the last time you tried to kill me? Nothing much really. As you see I moved to Atlanta, and I was working at a coffee/book shop. Sometimes I babysit the owner's kids while she goes away for work, and when I'm not at work, I volunteer at the orphanage. Pretty boring stuff if you ask me. How about you? Still chasing after Shaw?" I ask as I look up at him. 

"Of course, he has to pay for what he's done. This is the closest I've gotten to catching him."

"I understand. But what are you gonna do once you finally kill him? Are you gonna move away again?"

"No, I don't think I will. I think I might stay here and help Charles with his plan- even though it sounds utterly insane."

"What plan?" 

"He wants to turn this place into a school for people like us- his preferred term is mutant. He wants to help other people in the way that we never had help."

"That's actually very kind of him." Charles does seem like the kind of guy to put others before himself.

"Yeah, I guess. You should stay too, you've always been more of a people person than I."

"Maybe I will. It'd give me more time to annoy the hell out of you." I said as I nudged his shoulder. He chuckled and nudged me back.

"It's getting late, you should head to bed. It's been a long day." Erik said as he helped me off the bed.

"Yeah, I am getting pretty tired. Thanks for the trip down memory lane."

"Any time. Goodnight (Y/N)." He leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. I smiled and waved as I walked away, in search of my new room. Maybe Erik Lehnsherr does have a heart under all those steel walls after all.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: Find Us

Summary: (Y/N)’s sleep study goes horribly wrong.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

Sitting at the table you had continued the research you had begun the day before, you had been knee deep in articles since you had sent your sibling off to school that morning and it was almost time for them to get out.

Not that they would be coming back home after school; your mother had to stay on location for a few days and for tonight you couldn’t hold down the fort because you had your own appointment.

Dr. Finehair said he had a specialist come in to conduct a sleep study to see if maybe it was a brainwave disturbance causing your sleeping problems and he wanted you to try and sleep as long as you could.

Without meaning to you had let your mind wander back to your phone call with Ivar yesterday.

After you hung up you spared a moment to think about how abruptly Ivar decided to end the call, it seemed like something was wrong with him.

You figured he would tell you when he felt the need to talk about it, so you went back to your research on Ivar the Boneless.

History was one of your favorite subjects because it’s like a story that really happened once upon a dark and twisted time.

The more you read the more you wanted to put it all aside and never look at it again, which was odd for you. Normally you loved the dark part of history, you believed that no country can ever grow without looking back at its history.

American history was your usual topic but this was a completely new ballpark, and Ivar the Boneless didn’t really feel like light reading. Especially when you couldn’t help but picture your best friend performing a Blood Eagle in order to avenge his father.

His father was another matter that needed researching, you had to look into as much as you could. Any small piece of information could be vital to figuring out this whole thing.

Whatever this thing was.

Your stomach growled and snapped you out of your own head, you sat aside your laptop and stretched before you stood up from your kitchen table.

The kitchen window gave your neighbor a good enough view that she could just walk by and see that you weren’t sleeping.

It didn’t surprise you that your mother didn’t trust you to stay awake on your own accord, because you also didn’t trust yourself to not take a nap.

God you needed a nap.

With a sigh you went and made yourself a quick bowl of ramen to ease your hunger without overfilling yourself.

It was about an hour before Ivar would be released.

He was going to drive you to the hospital and wait for you, meaning he would sleep in an uncomfortable waiting room or even worse his truck. It felt odd that he would do that for you, and even though you had asked him to, you thought he’d decline.

Suddenly your phone chimed with a message.

I’m leaving early be there in ten - Ivar

Cool, we can just chill until it’s time to go - (Y/N)

You looked at the phone and couldn’t help but second guess if that message was good enough, or if you should have added any emojis.

Ugh, this was not good, how could you have suddenly developed feelings for him; Ivar of all people. The guy you were trying to get to remember his past life.

A life in which he was married to you while being old enough to be your grandfather.

You groaned in mild annoyance and complete confusion as you went upstairs to change out of the pajamas you had been lounging in.

The minutes passed like seconds and soon Ivar was at your door.

Fighting the urge to double check yourself in the mirror you went downstairs to let him in.

‘Hey, I got your schoolwork.’ he said handing you a folder.

‘Boo.’ you whined as you looked at the assignments.

‘You’re welcome, not like I went out of my way to get them for you or anything.’ Ivar sassed.

‘Thank you, think you can help me with this...I hate math.’

‘I know, sure I’ll help.’

You led him to the kitchen and subtly motioned to the open window and waved at your neighbor who waved back.

The older woman looked at Ivar in confusion and Ivar waved politely before he sat at your table.

‘So are we starting with math first?’

‘Hell no, tell me about the man with no eyes.’ you said bluntly.

‘I don’t know much, man doesn’t like being in the public eye. Got rich through genius investments but he seems to come from old money despite the fact that no information on his family is available. My father said he was one of his first clients.

‘So it's not like he just time traveled to get here, he’s well established. Covered in mystery but still real, does that mean he’s been alive this whole time?’ you asked.

‘I would guess so but that doesn’t seem humanly possible.’ Ivar said back.

‘Maybe he isn’t human then, at this point we can’t afford to think too logically anymore, the new motto is if we can explain it then we can accept it.’

‘Inspirational.’ he hummed.

‘Thank you, I’m truly a poetic soul.’ you joked.

‘Yeah... there is more though, he knew too much.’

That got your attention, not because of what Ivar had said but the way he said it, like he wasn’t talking about something he’d experienced. It was as if he was talking about someone else he didn’t know.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He knew about my family, but it didn’t feel like he looked us up. He just...knew too much.’ Ivar tried to clarify.

‘What did he know?’

‘Dad was introducing us and he said this wasn’t all us...he knew two of us weren’t there and he was right. Bjorn wasn’t there and he knew about Gida...almost no one knows about Gida, Dad never talks about her except on her birthday.’

‘Who is Gida?’ you asked.

‘My sister, well half sister if you want to be politically correct. My dad’s first wife had two kids Bjorn and Gida, when his first company was just becoming successful he had to leave town a lot and on one trip he was told Gida had died of influenza.’

‘Oh my God, I’m sorry.’ you said sympathetically.

‘It’s ok, she died way before I was born, I’ve only seen a few pictures but I don’t know anything about her, but that guy did. He knew that none of us ever saw her and he knew she was sick, and I could tell that dad was surprised by him knowing.’

Now Ivar was looking off into the distance as if he himself wasn’t even here sitting at your table right now. It was as if he was mentally somewhere else, probably trying to come up with a scenario where his father would have talked about this girl named Gida.

‘Hey, calm down. We can put a pin in it for right now if you want to, I actually do need to get some of my homework done.’ you tried to comfort.

Ivar nodded and took in a deep breath and let it all out.

You actually managed to put most of your focus on stupid equations that no one would ever need in real life, but you couldn’t help but think about how hard this was all becoming now.

Ivar was in complete denial of who he must have been in his past life, anytime you brought it up he shuts down or starts bleeding. How much more proof did he need and what will he do when he can’t deny it any more?

By some miracle you finished all your assignments with mild confidence that it was at least a B+, Ivar was apparently putting all his focus on helping you.

Pretty soon it was time for the two of you to head out if you wanted to get to the hospital in time for your appointment.

The ride was uneventful, just casual talk about school and plans for next weekend; pretty much you talked about anything but the elephant in the room.

While you rode you were very proud of yourself for keeping things casual. It was as if you had pushed aside that mild panic you felt about the possibility of you having a crush on the guy next to you.

At the hospital you filled out some papers while Ivar was chatting with the lady at the desk, it was the same one from your first visit.

Her name was Helga, she was a blond woman who looked no older than twenty seven tops, but she spoke to Ivar as if she were an forty year old aunt.

‘Are you her ride home? She could be here for a while, your mother will worry.’ Helga asked.

‘Mother always does, I let her know I’d be home late if it makes you feel better.’ he assured.

‘It doesn’t.’

You felt kinda awkward interrupting to let her know you were done with the papers.

She took them and led you into an examination room where a male nurse took your vitals and gave you a gown to wear.

After a minute Dr. Finehair came in with another doctor who you had to assume was the specialist who would be conducting the study.

‘Hello Ms. (Y/N), I’m Dr. Finehair.’

You made a confused face and sent a looked between the two men.

‘My little brother, if it helps you can call him Halfdan.’ your doctor explained.

‘Don’t worry the smarter one is in charge.’ Halfdan smiled politely.

It was strange how easily his charm seemed to relax you, but you guessed as a doctor he had to have amazing bedside manners.

‘I’ve looked over all of your test results and it seems to be nothing physically with your body, other than what could be expected from an exhausted teenager.’ he said as he began placing little stickers on your temples, scalp face, chest and legs.

Both doctors were very nice and the small talk did help to pass the time while Halfdan was placing sensors on your body.

‘The main purpose of the study is to see what your brainwaves are up to when you go to sleep. If there is anything unusual then we can know what to focus on and see what tests need to be run on you. OK?’ he explained.

‘I understand, how long do I need to sleep?’

‘As long as you can, did you need any sleeping aids, I see it’s been prescribed to you.’

‘Not necessary, I’m ready to crash whenever you give me the go ahead Doc.’ you smiled.

‘Oh well don’t let me stop you, we are going to leave the room, the sensors are connected to a machine, we will monitor the room as well record video.’

‘What if I have to use the restroom? I guess I should have asked before you started.’

‘It is fine, we can disconnect you, all you have to do is let us know.’

‘Alright you are all set to go, we will leave you to it ma’am.’

The two men left and it only took you about thirty seconds to go to sleep.

******************************************************************* Ivar’s POV

The hospital was unusually quiet today, not empty by any means, but it seemed nothing horribly urgent had happened since he’d gotten here.

Every person that came in was calm and in good enough shape to explain why they were here and what they were feeling.

Of course that would be expected because this hospital was a bit out of the way, too far from the busy highways where most car accidents tend to happen.

There was also the fact that this was a very expensive hospital, with amazing security, top of the line technology and the best doctors you can get.

All of his surgeries had been done here, because on top of all those other great qualities this hospital assured each patient complete privacy. No matter who the patient was or how much money their secrets were worth.

Ivar was sitting there, in one of the uncommonly comfortable waiting room chairs, scrolling through social media on his phone when a sudden wave of lightheadedness hit him.

His vision blurred to the point where he had to sit his phone aside and shake his head in an effort to clear his head.

‘I see you Boneless.’

Ivar flinched at the sudden voice, but more than that he flinched at the name.

He looked up and what he saw was impossible, so very impossible that even the thought of it made him think that he was going mad.

There is no other explanation for what was sitting in the chair across from him.

It was himself.

His own face, slightly hidden behind a thick and graying beard, but all the same it was obviously his face. His eyes, nose and teeth...his face.

‘No.’ he breathed.

‘But yes, you wouldn’t believe what all had to be sacrificed for us to chat, and I’m sad to say that my being here is not good news.’

‘You aren’t here.’ Ivar whispered.

‘No, not really; neither are you, not completely. Neither of us can ever truly be anywhere until we are together. Until you accept that you are me, I did my part; I died...and I waited.’

‘Waited for what? For two teenagers to meet to clean up a mess you made thousands of years ago?’ he snapped angrily, barely managing to keep his voice down.

‘I didn’t want to do this, I saw no point in it. I was fully prepared to accept the punishment the Gods felt I deserved, but it wasn’t just me...and it isn’t just you. Everyone you love and care about, they are all being punished for my deeds, our deeds.’

‘Your deeds.’ Ivar spat.

‘Our...deeds.’

‘Ivar.’

This time Ivar jumped clean out of his chair, partially due to being so suddenly startled but mostly to look away from this thing with his face.

Herald was there and just the look on his face told him something was wrong; horribly wrong.

‘What happened?’

‘Helga is calling her mother now, Ivar I need you to be calm. I can see how much you care for her and I know you will worry, but losing your composure won’t help anything do you understand?’ Herald said seriously.

‘Tell me what happened.’ Ivar repeated quietly, almost certain he didn’t want the answer but he needed it all the same.

‘(Y/N) is brain dead.’

‘What? She was just here for a sleep study. What the hell happened?!’ Ivar hissed.

The hairs on the back of his neck was standing up and he couldn’t think of a time where he had been this scared.

‘We don’t know. I wouldn’t even be saying any of this to you if her mother hadn’t listed you as one of (Y/N)’s emergency contacts.’

‘Tell me!’ Ivar snapped.

Herald sighed in mild annoyance but his look remained professional.

‘Her vitals were excellent, no sleep aids were administered. Neither me or Halfdan can explain what happened, I was monitoring her on camera and he was watching her brainwaves. Out of nowhere the waves flat-line and she is seizing up.’

‘She had a seizure?’

‘Yes. A non epileptic seizure, but a seizure nonetheless; we had to risk sedating her before she hurt herself. I wish I could tell you something, anything to explain what went wrong, but I don’t know. I checked her for every physical condition I can think of as a medical doctor and there is nothing to see.’

Ivar was speechless, he didn’t know what to say, even if he did he wouldn’t trust his voice to say it without breaking.

‘When her mother arrives I will explain it to her and what happens next will be her decision.’

‘Can I see her?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes, but do not move her. We are not sure what is causing the problem and we won’t know until we can get her in a CAT scan.’

‘CAT scans, do you think it’s cancer?’ Ivar asked, his eyes wide and his heart filled with dread.

‘I can not say, even suggesting it with no test done I could lose my license. For right now I need you to keep calm while we try to figure out what exactly is happening.’

Ivar nodded in understanding, he listened to the room number and made his way there; all the while thinking about everything.

He thought about the imaginary creature that spoke to him in the waiting room.

“My being here is not good news” that’s what he said and he was right.

He remembered when he had first met her in the hallway; he couldn’t stop thinking about her in class, when he saw her at the table with his brothers he was happy to see her. Even happier that he liked her and saw her as a great friend.

A friend was something he’d never had before and he had thought this was why he wanted to keep her so close, but it wasn’t.

Ivar knew that now, he wouldn’t be this worried and concerned for a friend.

He loved (Y/N), he loved her and right now she was brain dead because of the actions of a dead man.

Because of his actions.