#counts as not being an outlander

[torgawl]

crack theory: what if the abyss twin isn't a descender because they're an ascender?

[leaving-fragments]

the amount of times claire has gotten herself in hot water just because she got mad and righteously proclaimed her opinions and morality :')

[ebitenpura]

This isn't the best picture, but it kinda looks like Lana designed this armor for him and unintentionally (or intentionally) made them match, lol.

[sapphiressmoke]

Outlander I

Summary: She doesn’t know how it happened but they were calling to her to come closer. Touching it was never suppose to uproot her life and transport her somewhere she never thought she could see and witness. She has to try her best to survive if she wants to get back, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Modern!Reader.

Warnings: Nothing as of now but angst, romance, smut

Word Count: 2.6K

Next Part

2024 AC Kings Landing

So this was the magical Kings Landing? Once the vast and lively city was now a place of desolation, solitude and history. It had been like this ever since the burning in 305 A.C between two Queens. You read about how it was a horrible event, many innocent people lost their lives… Even the two Queens. Since that moment, no more Targaryens roamed Westeros. It was now a place of history and learning. Most teachers brought their students here to see what they were being taught. Some parents dragged their kids here to learn of their heritage.

You were here for the first reason.

Being in your second year of Vale University, you were studying History and Literature. What were you going to with that degree? You have no idea but at least you were enjoying yourself… For the most part. “The Red Keep took many years to complete. Three reigns to be exact. What started on Aegon’s High Hill names Aegonfort. King Aegon the First used this fort as his seat during the conquest, housing the impeccable Iron Throne. Though it was destroyed in the battle of Kings Landing, paintings portrayed this throne as huge and intimidating.” Your group followed your professor as she guided everyone at the base of what the humongous Keep used to be. You looked around, red brick scattered over the floor. You mind raced as you thought of how these bricks were over 2000 years old, millions of people have touched them and now they were scattered all over the dirt floor. “It isn’t said when but at some point after the Conquest, the King ordered the destruction of the Fort and the construction of the Red Keep began. It was said that Aegon requested the castle be built with red rock to remind people of the fire he roasted and the blood he shed of his enemies, so whenever King’s Landing looked up they’d see the price of defiance.”

Your professor continued to talk but the sound of nature around you drowned it out. The sound of buzzing getting louder in your ear, getting louder and louder. “Ugh! You don’t hear that?” You brought your finger to your ears and tried wiggling it around to see if there was anything there.

“Hear what?” Your friend, Talia, said as she leaned in.

“That stupid buzzing sound. It won’t stop.” You groaned as you continued with your ear.

Your friend gave you a weird look. “I just think you’re going crazy. There is nothing.”

The buzzing softened and turned into a soft whisper, softer than wind. “Y/N… Darling… Y/N.”

You whipped your head back, trying to find the source of the noise. “Please told me heard that!” Before Talia could respond, your professor spoke faster. “Is there something you would like to add, Miss Y/N?”

Your face went beat red from embarrassment. “No ma’am… Sorry.” You said sheepishly.

“Thank you. Now where was I? Ah yes. The start of the fall of the Targaryens, it started when…” You started to zone out and looked back behind you, trying to figure out where the whisper came from. From the bottom of the hill, you spotted a man sporting an eyepatch, long silver hair and cladded in leather. He had his arm extended out towards you, as if he was waiting for you to come and grab it, calling you to run away with him but just as fast as you spotted him, he disappeared.

You felt your arm being grabbed and a hand stroke your upper arm. You turned towards Talia, who wore a worried look. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shook your head and ran a hand through your hair. “Yea… Yes. I’m good.” You grasped her hand that was on your upper arm. “Let’s just get this tour over with. It’s giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“You got that right.” She agreed. “But I heard that the Kingswood, which is just behind the hotel, is just as creepy. Maybe even haunted!”

128 AC Kings Landing

“Mother, please tell me I do not need to go to this hunt. There are better things I can do with my time.” The One-Eyed Prince has been trying for days to stay at the Keep, not wanting to waste a morning travelling to the Kingswood just for a hunt that he did not want to participate in.

The Queen sighed at her son, pushing a silver strand away from his stoic face. “Aemond… ‘Tis for Jaehaerys and Jaehaeras name day. Your brother wants to do a grand celebration for them. Especially for Jaehaerys.”

He rolled his one eye. “We all know that it’s an excuse for him to drink away… With reason this time.” He looked up at his mother. “Will father be coming?”

“The Maesters will assess The Kings health before letting us know but I do doubt that he will be able to join with the amount of pain he has been in.” The Queen replied. It has been no secret that The Kings has been declining the past couple of years. Decaying flesh, rotting teeth and constant pain. Drunk day in and out on milk of the poppy.

“If he does not go…” He tried to think of a reason to stay but was stump. “If he does not go then I shall stay here and watch over him.” Lies.

Alice by let out a chuckle. “You are quite the convincing liar, Aemond, but the Maesters will be here to aid your father in anything.” She walked away from her son and looked at the window, looking upon the people of Kings Landing. “I know you would much rather be here, reading in the library and training outside but it will do you some good to be away for a bit. Breath the good air of Kingswood.” She turned around to face her third child. “Plus, Ser Criston Cole shall be joining us if you ever do need to scratch the intense to train.”

Aemond rubbed his face and groaned. “I guess you are right, mother. But I will not ride with Aegon in the carriage. He’s an imbecile and will most likely throw up from all of the wine he has drank.”

“Thank you.” Alicent smiled. “You may ride with with me and Ser Criston. Halaena will be with the children and nurse while Aegon rides with Ser Arryk and Erryk as it seems they are the only ones that can deal with his shenanigans.”

“As I mentioned before… Imbecile.”

The night passed swiftly and once the sun started to rise and was on the horizon line, the Royal Family begun their travels to the Kingswood. Even though Aemond was never a talkative person, worsening after the incident with his eye, he seemed even more lost in his thoughts than usual. He stared out the window, sitting across from his mother who watched him intensely. “What is on your mind, sweet son?”

Aemond continued to look outside the window but sighed. “I had this weird dream. Was just flashes of images. Nothing clear. There was this woman… She seemed lost, searching for help. It sounded like she was calling out to me but the way she dressed did not seem normal.”

The Queen stayed silent for a moment before speaking. “Are you a Dragon Dreamer now?” She joked, causing a small smile to break on the princes face. “Dreams have many meanings. Perhaps it’s just a bad dream from the stress you put on yourself. Free your mind for the next couple of days. Perhaps even participate in the hunt.”

The hunt that went on in the Kingswoods happened every couple of years, usually to celebrate a names day for a royal child. The White Hart was usually the main goal of the hunt but any animal was game. “And if I were to meet the White Hart, would that not be a sign that I should be the King over my buffoon of a brother?” It was quite well known that Aegon did not desire to be King, fought against everything Even fighting with his Grand Father and Mother saying that it was his Half Sisters birthright but all of his complaints were going to a deaf ear. Aemond wished to rule. He was fit to rule and it was simple: he rode the largest dragon in all of Westeros, he excelled in combat and studied on the history and politics of his family and of Westeros but it would not go to him unless everyone in front of him died.

This was a conversation he had with his mother too often but his question was answered with silence. That was how the rest of the carriage ride went. Silence. The dream kept replaying over and over in his mind. Who was this girl? What was she doing? Who was she to him?

Within the next couple of hours, Lords and Ladies and the Royals arrived in Kingswood. The air still cold with the mornings breath. Everything was set up for them to place clothing, tables… Everything. The children were running about, screaming playfully with each other. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera came running towards Aemond, crashing into his legs. “Hi Uncle Aemond!” They squealed.

He looked down at his niece and nephew, rubbing the back of their heads before pushing them back on their way. “Hello you two.”

“Time travels back and is protected by the White King.” Helaena whispered into the cold air of the morning, staring at Aemond from across the way.

Aemond looked up to make eye contact with Halaena, seeing her lips move but not making out what she had said. He cocked his head to the side, deciding to walk towards his sister to see what she had said. She didn’t seem to realize that Aemond was by her side before he squeezed her hand. “What was that, good sister?” Helaena looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Only Time can tell you… Only Time.”

The rest of day went on eventfully. The men prepared for the hunt while the women gossiped as they ate cake. Of course Alicent chose not to participate in the gossip. She could not bother to hear anymore about Rhaenyra, her bastard sons and how great they are. She decided to watch her grand-children run about. Aegon was nowhere to be found, most likely already drunk in his tent, Helaena chose to rest in her tent as the carriage ride took a lot out of her and Aemond sat with Criston Cole as they sharpened their swords, getting ready for the hunt. She stared around her and for a slight moment, she would think her life was perfect. She had her children and her grand-children around her but then she remembers that she is practically ruling the Seven Kingdoms, her husband was dying and she was alone in the world.

2024 AC Kingswood

You slipped on your black slip dress, continuing to argue with your friend in the hotel room. “You don’t get it, Talia! There is something calling to me out there. I’m not insane. I’m not crazy. It’s been going on ever since we entered Kings Landing.” The buzzing was constant, the whispering was constant and the flashes of that man were at every corner.

Talia sat on the bed, her eyes following you as you continued to pace around the room. “I’m not saying you’re crazy but you sound crazy, Y/N. A silver haired man with only one eye? Listen to yourself!”

You groaned and you pulled yourself into a ball. “I know what I sound like!” You stood back up and waved your arms around. “But this… This place is weird. There has been so many deaths and apparently fucking magic. There is something going on.” You grabbed your black shawl from your luggage and pulled in over your shoulders. “And I am going to figure it out.” You pointed to the woods. “I’m going to go in those stupid woods and try to find something. I don’t what I will try to find but I will know what it is when I see it.”

Your friend gave you a shocked look, standing up quickly and grabbed your arm. “Okay now I’m saying that you are crazy! There’s boars… Bears in those woods! You could die! What would your mom do if you die?”

You ripped your arm from her grasp. “Well she always knew I would die in a stupid way. Tell her I love her. And before you ask, no you can’t come. You’ll be the person to let the teacher know that I’m gone. If I’m not back before the next tour tomorrow morning, you can go all out and tell everyone I’m missing. Okay?”

You saw the perplexed look she wore in her face before answering. “Fine. Fine! If you die… Ugh!”

You put on your pair of shoes, grabbed your flashlight and placed it your bag before heading out. You stood in front of the forest and sighed, were you really this stupid? Yes, yes you were. You took one last look at the hotel before you made your way into the dark, insect infected forest… Gods you were dumb.

It had already been a few hours at this point, you were tired, you were hungry and you still had no idea what you were looking for. You kept hearing animal noises surrounding you and you were terrified. What if a wild boar chased you or a bear mauled you to death? What if you died of dehydration. How many days does it take to die or dehydration or hunger?

Suddenly the aura around you shifted and the whispering begun again. ‘You’re so close, Y/N. Continue.’ It was a man’s voice. It was so clear. ‘Continue straight, My Love, we’ll be together soon.’ The buzzing began and it only got louder as you continued walking straight. The further you walked, the higher the grass got. It was tickling your calves. It was as if a flash of light opened your eyes when all of the sudden a bunch of tall stones stood tall in front of you, being illuminated by the direct moonlight. The aura surrounding it was calling to you to come closer. “This is what I’ve been looking for.” You beamed with excitement.

The buzzing only got louder as you approached the Stones. The high grass tickled your calves, leaving tiny water droplets on your skin. The buzzing sounded as if it was whispering your name, soft as wind. “Y/N… Y/N…”. It only drew you closer.

The Stones had this silver and golden aura surrounding it. Were you the only one that could sense it? Were you the only one that could hear it? See it? Your thoughts were racing as you stood in front of the tall Stone. You raised your right hand to touch it, as if that was what it was telling you to do. The only thing you could do. For a moment you hesitated, wondering what you were doing, why were you here but it just kept calling out. “Y/N… Y/N…”

You let out a long breath and pressed your palm flat against the rough texture. Within the moment, all sound seized to exist around her, life was dark and as soon as it disappeared, everything reappeared.

128 AC Kingswood

You blinked your eyes fast, letting out a shaky breath. You stumbled backwards and the world wasn’t as you just saw. There were more trees surrounding you. The woods seemed to be more lively than before. “Oh Gods, what did I do.”

From back at the camp, Helaena felt the shift in the air. “Welcome home, Time.” Helaena smiled.

———————————————

SOOO what do we think? It’s only getting started and I’m so excited to see where this goes.

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi. 

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile. 

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes. 

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.    

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman. 

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject. 

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more. 

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse. 

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.” 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.” 

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence. 

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.  

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence. 

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening. 

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment. 

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.   

“You okay?” he asks. 

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm. 

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart. 

“You will never be alone,” she promises. 

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.   

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight. 

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him. 

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.  

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him. 

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms. 

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.  

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him. 

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt. 

“I choose him over you,” she says. 

Then, she slips back inside.     

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds. 

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now. 

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.” 

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones. 

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.” 

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.  

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say. 

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though. 

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says. 

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once. 

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks. 

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother. 

“I will think on it,” he says. 

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life. 

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut. 

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers. 

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek. 

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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Series Tag List (Part 1)

(Going back to the regular Dean tag list, plus those who said they'd like to be tagged on this series!)

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean @k-slla

[sgiandubh]

Heughan’s voice is as smooth as his whisky. His latest venture is his multi-award-winning whisky and gin, ‘The Sassenach’, the Gaelic word for ‘outsider’. He feels he is an outsider to the industry, but the idea behind the name seems to have emerged from his mother, who is an English artist and was called ‘Sassenach’ when she arrived in New Galloway, and in Outlander, Jamie Fraser calls his wife Sassenach as s term of endearment. “The name is very special to me,” he tells me.

Perhaps the video he recorded at Everest Base Camp was for his mother ?She's on IG too and we know Sam loves her so much and sometimes doesn't call her Mum but Chrissie. Cait is not a Sassenach because she's Irish. Sam calling her the Original Sassenach it's because of her character, Claire and he recently stated Caitriona is nothing like Claire (SheKnows interview). Either way it's not a big deal so don't blame me. It's just a thought and cute anyway .

Dear Sassenach Anon,

Let me count the ways. Quoting from memory first we had ' She [C] is the original Sassenach' (at one of the seasons' premieres in London, where he brought a bottle and waxed lyrical to the press over it). Then, we had 'Sassenach means foreigner in Scots Gaelic and it's a term of endearment of Jamie Fraser, the character I am playing in OL, for his wife' (numerous times for various media outlets). Then, 'I am the Sassenach, I always felt as an outsider, but also Jamie Fraser's term of endearment for his wife, Claire' (ditto). And then 'the name emerged from his mother who is an English artist and was called ‘Sassenach’ when she arrived in New Galloway, and in Outlander, Jamie Fraser calls his wife Sassenach as s term of endearment.'

The Arbuturian is a well regarded online magazine, founded in 2009 and based in London. It looks and reads to me as The New Yorker's slightly more plebeian, younger cousin of sorts - check their masthead mascot...

... and remember (ROFLMAO) The New Yorker's Eustace Tilley, its illustrious inspiration:

By the way, Eustace Tilley, one of my favorite dandies, was itself inspired by an engraving of the French count Alfred d'Orsay, by a certain... James Fraser, sometime around 1830. I kid you not and yes, totally Clan Fraser, born near Inverness:

Can't make this shite up, even if you wanted, huh?

Anyways, back to your question and this little media outlet that could. Its targeted audience is, according to Wikipedia:

In sociological lingo, AB means an educated mid-to high level management audience, with a hefty disposable income to boot (usually more than 1 million £/year net revenue). All it takes is a short stroll through their Lifestyle pages: according to them, among this year's most sought after Xmas gifts gimmicks are a Turnbull & Asser silk pocket square (£75) for him or a £200 voucher for Fairmont Windsor Park’s Ultimate Diamond Facial, for her.

This interview's one and only raison d'être was to sound appealing to this particular dinkie (double income, no kids) Generation X audience, especially as far as his booze was concerned. For he was on booze promo mode here and he obviously twisted a bit whatever (I repeat: whatever) his real motivation behind the brand name might have been to the least controversial possible version. It's hard to question or throw shite at this mum version, let alone at a version involving a heroic single parent as Chrissie H, let alone at Christmas time. This allowed him, at the same time, to elegantly keep his personal life away and separate between business and private: something he should have been doing since the very start. But S is a sentimental man and a people pleaser - we all know that, don't we?

It was important for S to be featured in this London online magazine, read by the same people he was once serving drinks to, at parties. It's all about aspirations, social climbing and being a part of that crowd. Finally!

And you, darling, are a troll, despite your protesting. I nevertheless hope this answered your very transparently targeted question, in the spirit of Christmas. Otherwise, it would have landed in the bin, where it probably belongs.

PS: Caitriona is Caitriona, probably nothing like Claire, indeed and thank God! Being 'like Claire Fraser' was certainly not what prompted the coup de foudre - I daresay, quite the contrary. Sorry, darling, to pop your bubble, but this is not exactly how the real world works.

Later edit: if the entire Everest trek was something 'just for himself', then the recorded video was also 'just for himself'. The reason he posted it on Instagram was to probably childishly rejoice/brag he finally made it and damn the consequences. Use a bit of logic.

[yourivyygrow]

COUNTING SUMMERS | jj maybank

in which your life is pretty boring and miserable, but gets a whole lot more interesting when you pick up a compass in an antique shop that drags you into the outer banks. but not the ones in your world.

or... you warp into your new tv show obsession and chaos ensues.

an isekai obx serie rewrite, 'cause we all need some self-indulgent extravaganza!

. . . INFOS

everyone is aged up to 18 cause it feels icky to write otherwise, plus i never really considered 'em teenagers in s1? they all look 25

english is not my first language so i apologize for typos

apart from a backstory in order for the whole thing to make sense y/n is a blank canvas!

reality-traveling in this show has been a 100% inspired by outlander, if there's some similarities that's why

this fic is written for fun and is meant to be read for fun, it's really self-indulgent and meant to be a little silly and out-here!

if you want to be put on the taglist, send an ask with your user or comment here!

THE PULL OF THE TIDE, book one

szn one ﾉ where the current takes us

. . . falling asleep on a beach wasn't exactly unheard of. waking up on said beach but in a whole other place, though, was more uncommon. especially because kildare island was not supposed to be real, and the sarah cameron standing in front of you even less.

being swept in your favorite tv show wasn't on your to-do list and you have to find a way to go back before you mess the storyline up. but things becomes significantly harder when people start to feel like destiny in the shape of strangers.

in which a compass rewrites reality, a girl discovers the weight of belonging, and the outer banks may hold more than just treasure. 

MAIN MASTERLIST ─ 00. siren song, 01. deny, deny, deny, 02. sweet agatha, 03. mystery girl, 04. shoot your shot, 05. what goes around, comes around, 06. reality check, 07. the meaning of belonging, MORE TO COME!

EXTRA CONTENT ─ none yet.

[bcacstuff]

The clock may be ticking for Outlander on TV, but the story is everlasting for bestselling author Diana Gabaldon, who writes the historical fantasy books (nine and counting!) upon which the show is based. Debuting in 1991, the first Outlander novel has spawned several sequels, spinoff novellas, and ultimately the intense Starz drama that viewers have come to love. With the final episodes on the horizon and new prequel series Blood of My Blood forthcoming, Gabaldon reflects on the show’s end and offers a peek inside her notebook.

What have you been happy to see so far in Season 7?

Diana Gabaldon: One of the things the Outlander production as a whole does really well is battle scenes. We’ve had a certain amount of the [American Revolution’s] Battle of Ticonderoga, the first Battle of Saratoga, and a lot of the second Battle of Saratoga. And I absolutely loved the actor playing Benedict Arnold, Rod Hallett. The casting this season has been spectacular. Every character is just right.

Would you say that Benedict Arnold was the character you were most excited for fans to meet this season?

He is historically fascinating, and I did a lot of research work on him because he plays a large part in more than one of the books. And we’ll see him again in Book 10. His story is very interesting. Everybody knows how his story ends, or at least they think they do. But yes, I was just impressed that, between the script and the actor, they pretty much nailed him and captured his sense of reckless adventure and his charm. Luckily, they used a lot of the book dialogue for it, some of which was taken from things that Benedict Arnold himself said.

With the show set to conclude with Season 8, do you have an ending in mind for Claire and Jamie’s story on the page?

Yes, I have shared the ending scenes with [the creative team]. But as to the actual way the story comes to a conclusion? No, they don’t know that. [Laughs] But we’ll get there. I don’t write in a straight line, and I don’t work with an outline. This is why it takes me several years to write one book — not only the way that I write, which I describe as like playing Tetris in my head, but also just the sheer size and the fact that they are books of a continuing nature.

You’ve shared a few excerpts from your 10th novel in the series. Is there anything else you can tease about it?

Well, I’m still writing it. And I have a title, but I’m not revealing that until we’re a bit closer to publication. I don’t want to rub all the “new” off it. I can tell you that it’s got whales.

You’ve also written Season 2’s “Vengeance Is Mine,” “Journeycake” in Season 5, and the upcoming 14th installment in Season 7. Can we anticipate more scripts from you?

Yeah, it’s so much easier than writing novels. [Laughs] It takes me three weeks tops to write a scene. I will be writing a script for the prequel [Blood of My Blood] and one for Season 8 [of Outlander].

Though only one season has been given the green light, how long do you envision the prequel’s story to be onscreen?

Well, the television version isn’t up to me, but for what it’s worth, I have material for three —  relatively short, as compared to the main Outlander novels — prequel books concerning Jamie’s parents. Blood of My Blood is based on the synopsis of the first of those books.

Apart from the ones you’ve written, are there any episodes you love so much that you wish you had?

Oh, yeah. There’s always at least one per season where I’m thinking, “Oh, this is fabulous.” It would be [Episode 8, “Turning Points”] for Season 7.

Do you have a favorite memory from your times visiting the set?

It would probably be the first season where they invited me to do a cameo [as Iona MacTavish] in Episode 4. It was fascinating being part of the set rather than visiting it. I was a cast member for three days. It was just interesting to see how it all worked.

Were you able to make it to set for Season 8?

God willing, I will be on set for a week or so next month [September 2024]. They’ll be filming the final block, for which I wrote one of the scripts, so I’d like to see a bit of it live. The last time I was on set for a prolonged period — as opposed to drop-in visits — was for Season 2’s “Vengeance Is Mine.” The food from craft services was always excellent, so I’m hoping to have a toastie, and I’m looking forward to seeing good friends.

How have the main cast’s performances surpassed what you envisioned on the page?

Sam Heughan does a fantastic job with Jamie, and Caitríona [Balfe], while she doesn’t look like the Claire of the books, certainly acts like her and is totally immersive in her character. I’ve [never] seen a bad performance by anyone at any level.

What will you miss most about the show?

I’ll miss the entertainment value of seeing dailies five nights a week, but otherwise, I’m not troubled. The end of a great adventure is always a bit traumatic and nostalgic — but it does leave you with a feeling of specialness, accomplishment, of having been part of a great endeavor. And they do live in my head, you know…

Are there more stories in this universe that you still wish to explore?

There’s always more I could write. Making the optimistic assumption that I’m going to live long enough, I have notes for [time traveler] Master Ray-Mond’s book (no title on that one yet) and for another [about Claire’s first husband, Frank], titled What Frank Knew.

Will you feel sad saying goodbye to Jamie and Claire?

I really don’t think I will — the main books are written with a lot of lacunae — spaces where we move from one block of story to another, leaving a hiatus of months (or sometimes years) in someone’s life. I can, should I want to, always go back to one of those places and write what happened while everyone was looking somewhere else.

Outlander, Season 7B, Fridays, 8/7c, Starz (Midnight on the Starz App and On Demand)

This is an excerpt from TV Guide Magazine’s Outlander: Claire & Jamie’s Love Story For The Ages issue. For a deep-dive into the historical romance, scoop on the second half of Season 7, and details on the upcoming prequel, pick up a copy of the issue available on newsstands and for order online at Outlander2024.com.

Article posted 29 November 2024

[genshinluvr]

A Star from Another Universe

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader/Idol!Reader

Summary: What if Alice found you when you first arrived in Teyvat? Alice nursed you back to health, and you stayed with her until you healed. One day, Alice goes up to you while you're babysitting Klee and asks you what your thoughts are on becoming an idol.

Note: I have been having so many random AUs recently that I need to get it out of my head. This is Idol!reader AU for the ongoing Isekai'd!reader one-shot series! :> This entire story is what I have had on my mind for a while, and I honestly don't mind making a "small" headcanon on what kind of fans the men are. Since there are almost thirty people in the harem. Anyway! I hope all Al Haitham wanters are Al Haitham havers! :> I was able to get him on my NA account and my Asia account ^^ Keep in mind that I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of 🤔

Word Count: 8.7k

The day you appeared mysteriously in Teyvat, a woman took you under her wing to nurse you back to your healthy state. The woman went by the name Alice; she was a sweet woman who mothered you as if you were her own child. Alice is not only charming, but there’s something about her that makes her feel so powerful, almost intimidating.

You’re not from Teyvat or their universe; you’re an outlander, but you’re not like the two blonde outlander twins searching for their kin. You’re an outlander whose existence does not belong in their universe; you just mysteriously appeared in their world without an explanation. Not even Alice can figure out what brought you to Teyvat.

A few weeks after the injuries you sustained from being thrown into Teyvat had healed, Alice approaches you one day while you’re outside playing with Klee. Today is the second time you’re tasked to babysit Klee while Alice is out and about tending to her business; you nearly got bombed with the fishes in the lake. It was not fun, but Klee made it up to you by giving you a small dodoco plush similar to the one hanging off her backpack.

“[Y/N], sweetheart, how are you feeling today?” Alice asks, walking up to you while Klee is chasing a crystal fly five feet away from you two. 

You give Alice a smile and wave at the woman. “I’m doing great! The concoction you have given me for my injuries has helped me greatly. I really appreciate it, Alice,” you said sincerely. 

Alice pulls you into her arms and rubs your back. “That’s great to hear, sweetheart,” Alice coos.

You hug Alice back, and the two of you pull away from the hug. You hear Klee scream with joy;  you turn to look, only to see Klee jumping up and down in the air while cheering that she finally caught a crystal fly. Klee looks over at you and Alice; her eyes light up before making her way toward you and Alice.

“Look what I got!” Klee squeals, holding her hand out to show you and her mother the anemo crystal fly in the palm of her hands. “Isn’t it pretty?” Klee asks in awe. 

Her eyes fill with wonder as she watches the crystal fly flutter out of her hands. Klee pouts and turns around, running off to catch another crystal fly. You look at Alice and notice her looking at you from head to toe, her chin propped up on her fist, head tilting to the side.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Alice?” You ask, laughing nervously. 

Alice purses her lips and squints at you. “What do you think about becoming an idol?” Alice asks.

Your eyes widen. “An idol?! Like, singing and dancing in front of a large audience?” You squeak.

Alice nods. “That is correct! What do you think about being an idol? I think you have the potential to be a worldwide idol,” Alice says.

She turns you around, continuing to look at you from head to toe. You have no idea how it’s going to work out. You being an idol while you’re from another universe? Would the fans and critics even care about your origins and background? There’s no way you can be an idol in Teyvat— no way at all.

After that day and the conversation between you and Alice, you find yourself sitting on a chair backstage. You look at your reflection in the mirror while the stylists are getting you ready for your performance. It’s been a year since the conversation between you and Alice, and now you’re an idol.

It’s strange and sudden; it feels like a blur, and everything around you has changed so much and so fast that you end up getting whiplash from it all. You lean back in your seat and close your eyes, letting the makeup artist apply sparkly eyeshadow on your eyelids, putting small gemstones at the corner of your eyes. Alice insisted you become an idol so you can thrive in Teyvat. When she told you that, you knew she was telling you to get off your ass and get a job. You don’t mind getting a job in Teyvat, but getting a career as an idol? That is something you would never imagine yourself being. 

“How much time do you guys need before [Y/N] goes up on stage to perform again?” The security asks, peeking into your dressing room.

“Give us five more minutes, and we’ll have [Y/N] out on stage soon,” Emilia, your makeup artist, says, dabbing a little bit of foundation on your face. 

You didn’t expect much when you first started as an idol. You had low expectations for yourself because why would anyone be a fan of an idol that did not belong in their universe? Especially when you don’t know what region they’re from; many have speculated that you’re from one of the seven nations in Teyvat, but all continued to be speculations and have never been confirmed nor denied. 

Your existence and general background are shrouded in mystery. That’s what made you appealing to your audience; your fans. Despite being a charming and appealing idol, you’re still mysterious, and that’s what the fans love about you. You have a lot of fans, even more than you expected. You expected to have around fifteen fans, but you were wrong. Your popularity is booming, and it excites Alice (she is also your agent). She has booked you many interviews and TV shows (she also wants you to have a background in acting) and booked as many performances as possible to get your name out in Teyvat.

Within two months of your debut as an idol from another universe (that is what you’re known for), your face is all over magazines, billboards, posters, and advertisements and many people know your name and music. Who doesn’t know you and your music? Even adeptis and archons from seven nations know your existence and music— perhaps even Celestial gods know of your existence, but you don’t know that. You’re living the luscious life, showered in attention, Mora, precious gems, and expensive fabrics. 

“I wonder if there are people that claim to be my biggest fan,” you mutter.

Emilia places her makeup brush down on the table and looks at you curiously. “I’m sure there are people that do! My niece says that she’s the biggest [Y/N] fan,” Emilia replies, smiling at you.

You crack your eyes open and look at Emilia with interest. “Is that so? Has she been to one of my concerts before?” You ask.

You look at your reflection in the mirror and stand up. You fix and adjust your stage outfit. Each set of your performance has specific clothing made for the set performance. One of your favorite outfits out of all the things you have worn to perform is usually the one that is saved for last. It’s silver and white; you have tinsels in your hair, and the gem in the corner of your eyes would sparkle each time you winked (not really, it was the lighting that made them glimmer). 

Emilia nods her head, smiling widely. “She’s currently in the crowd with her mother and father. They’re really excited to watch you perform,” said Emilia. 

“Well, I am excited to perform for your niece and her parents,” you said. “I’m ready for my performance now. I’ve been keeping them waiting for way too long,” you brush your hair over your shoulders and turn to Emilia.

Emilia nods her head and watches you leave the dressing room. You’re guided to the lower part of the stage behind the curtains. You’re instructed to stand in the center of the stage trapdoor and were handed the microphone. You can hear loud cheers, screams, and excited chatter from the audience. No matter how many times you have performed, you will always be nervous about how the performance is going to turn out. 

“Good luck! You’re going to do great!” Alice squeezes your arms with an encouraging smile.

You let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Alice,” you breathe. 

Itto and Gorou shove their way through the crowd of roaring fans; Itto has a large sign in his hands while Gorou is holding onto glowsticks. Gorou mutters a soft “excuse me,” “pardon me,” as he and Itto weave through sweaty people. Once both Itto and Gorou have gotten to the front of the row, Itto sees how close they are to the stage. On the front row in front of the stage, aside from Itto and Gorou, were twenty-three other men standing in front of the stage barrier, waiting for the performance to start. 

“[Y/N]’s number one fan? Psh! I doubt it,” Itto hears someone scoff. 

Itto turns to the man beside him and sees a ginger-haired Snezhnayan man, also holding up a sign with your name plastered on it. Itto raises his eyebrows at the Snezhnayan man and looks over at the dark brown-haired man beside the ginger. 

“Childe, please refrain yourself from starting fights at a concert,” Zhongli mutters, glaring over at the man beside him.

“Yeah, Childe. Why are you upset to see me, [Y/N]’s number one fan, coming out here to support them?” Itto asks, glaring at the ginger-haired male.

Gorou laughs nervously and taps Itto on the shoulders. “Itto, I don’t think we should be getting into fights either. Not only will that get us kicked out, but people around us can also get injured,” Gorou explains.

Childe laughs. “If you’re [Y/N]’s number one fan, then how come you weren’t in the first row throughout the entire performance? This is the first time I have seen you in the first row,” Childe raises his eyebrows at the oni.

Itto narrows his eyes at Childe and eyes Childe from head to toe. Childe has a bandana wrapped around his forehead with your name in the center. A sign in Childe’s grasp has the words, “❤❤ PLEASE MARRY ME [Y/N] ❤❤” written in capitalization in colorful markers. Hearts are scattered around on the white sign, glitter lining the borders of the sign, and your name is big and bold in gold. Itto lets out a scoff, a smirk appearing on his face.

“How desperate and pathetic,” Itto thinks to himself. 

Itto turns to look at the stage, watching people prepare for the next performance. Diluc peeks from Kaeya’s shoulders and rolls his eyes when he sees Itto and Childe’s signs. It’s almost laughable in a way, but Diluc shouldn’t be the one to judge since he, himself, has a sign as well. 

“Archons, how did we get stuck near those two idiots?” Diluc mutters, rolling his eyes.

Kaeya snickers. “Relax, brother. They won’t start anything other than an argument. We’ve seen them argue on public forms before; it’s normal at this point,” Kaeya says.

“They also snuck their way into the first row. Apparently, Itto weaved his way through the crowd to get in front of the stage barrier,” Albedo says casually, looking at the stage designs and stage lights.

Venti taps Albedo on the shoulders. “Don’t you know [Y/N]’s agent? If so, can you get us all backstage passes to meet the [Y/N]?” Venti asks eagerly. 

“I thought we’re already going to meet [Y/N]? Didn’t the front-row tickets get us the chance to have a meet-and-greet with [Y/N]?” Aether asks, unscrewing his water bottle and taking a sip of his water.

“Last time I checked, it says guaranteed. Therefore, we are going to meet [Y/N] backstage after the concert,” Dainsleif says, resting his arm on the steel stage barrier. 

“Why after the concert? We’re all going to be smelling like each other’s body odor while sweating at the same time,” Scaramouche grumbles, glaring at the person that accidentally brushed up against him.

“To be honest, I would rather meet [Y/N] after the concert than before the concert because they’ll remember us when they go home,” Heizou says, shrugging his shoulders.

“But we’re going to be sweaty when we meet them,” Tighnari sighs in discontentment, scratching his ears with irritation.

“Hey, we’ll be meeting them after their performance. I’m pretty sure they’re going to be just as sweaty as we are, if not, maybe sweater than us because they’re the one that’s performing,” Thoma shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the steel barrier while waving the glowstick in the air subconsciously. 

The lights in the stadium soon dim, causing everyone in the stadium to quiet down. Kazuha taps on Xiao’s shoulders, motioning for him to crack the glowstick for it to illuminate. Xiao searches around on his person for the glowstick, only to realize that he had dropped it somewhere while getting seated in the stadium. 

“I seem to have lost it,” Xiao mutters, his eyebrows furrowing while his hands continue to roam around his body, searching for the glowstick.

Kazuha gives Xiao a sympathetic smile. “That’s okay, Xiao! I have a spare glowstick,” Kazuha says, handing Xiao the uncracked glowstick. 

A faint smile appears on Xiao’s face as he takes the glowstick from Kazuha’s grasp, quietly thanking the samurai shyly. Xiao cracks the glowstick, and it immediately lights up. The sound of footsteps echos the quiet stadium, and the stage lights shine down on a white box. The crowd stares at the box with anticipation and sees your silhouette rising in the box.

Loud cheers and screams erupt from the audience, colorful stage lights come on, the box you’re in is suddenly knocked down, and you step out onto the stage. 

“They’re even prettier in person,” Kaveh whispers to himself, covering his mouth as he watches you start the performance for over one hundred thousand attendees.

“They’re very mesmerizing,” Baizhu says in awe, not taking his eyes off of you.

Al Haitham watches you dance and sing on stage. The way the light shines down on you, trails after your movement, confetti flying in the air and raining down on you and the audience is a sight to see. Your face is on the big screen; you make eye contact with the kamera man and send a wink to the kamera, the gem at the corner of your eyes sparkling. 

“Not only are their performances flawless and beautiful, but they are as well,” Al Haitham says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cyno chuckles beside Al Haitham. “That’s why they’re known as the world-class performer, Al Haitham,” Cyno replies.

With the music blaring, and the audience screaming for your attention each time you walk by them, the men doubt the others would be able to hear them voicing out their thoughts. Every time you walk by the front row close to the men, they would scream as loud as they can and wave their signs, trying to get your attention. Your eyes will sweep over the VIP section of the stadium, smiling and waving at the section. Your music is blasting in the background; you have earplugs in your ears; your stage outfit looks immaculate, and your hair and makeup are flawless as usual. 

Wanting to grab your attention, Pantalone pulls out a generous-sized bag of Mora and tosses it on the stage. The bag of Mora lands beside your feet, lightly tapping your foot. You look down at the bag of Mora with wide eyes. You squat down, grab the bag and examine it with wide eyes of disbelief. You look up, searching around for the owner of the bag of Mora. 

Pantalone waves his glowstick around, desperately trying to get your attention. You and Pantalone make eye contact; the minute your eyes meet, Pantalone feels his heart race against his chest, heat rushing to his cheeks to the point where his face feels hot under your gaze. You slowly stand and walk towards the section where he’s standing. Seeing you approach their section, the twenty-four other men start to crowd around Pantalone, resulting in him getting pinned against the steel stage barrier. 

“Hey, stop pushing, you buffoon!” Dottore hisses, glaring at the men who are desperately trying to get your attention the closer you get to their section.

You walk down the step on the side of the stage with the help of security. You thank the guard and approach the men who are almost breaking through the stage barriers. You stop in front of them and hold the bag of Mora up for them to see.

“Who does this belong to?” You ask into the microphone.

You would ask them without the microphone, but with the screams and number of people hollering your name, reaching out to you to grab your attention (or to even touch you), it was hard to ask them personally. 

“It belongs to me, but you can keep it,” Pantalone says, sending a wink in your direction with a charming smile on his face. 

While the smile on Pantalone’s face looks like a charming smile, Pantalone is trying his best not to show the pain on his face. After all, he’s being pinned against a steel stage barrier by most of the VIP section. Maybe throwing a bag of Mora on stage to grab your attention wasn’t the best idea he had in mind. 

“Keep it? I can’t simply keep someone’s bag of Mora!” You look at Pantalone with wide eyes.

“Hey, if Pantalone says you can keep it, keep it. He already has too many Mora,” Capitano says nonchalantly, smiling underneath his helmet. 

You smile at them sheepishly and shake your head. “No, no, no, it’s fine, really!” You said.

You gesture for Pantalone to hold his hand out. Pantalone complies and holds his right hand out in front of him. You place the bag of Mora on his hand, grabbing his fingers and wrapping them around the bag of Mora.

“There!” You said, smiling up at Pantalone, who looked at you with wide eyes, his cheeks bright red. 

You slowly release Pantalone’s hands and smile at him. Pantalone gulps and nods shyly, pocketing his bag of Mora.

“Lucky bastard,” Pantalone hears Pierro mutters jokingly. 

“[Y/N]! [Y/N]! I love you so much!! Please marry me!” Childe screams at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

You hear someone angrily protest, pushing the ginger man away and shoving the sign in front of you. “Don’t listen to him, my love! I’m your biggest fan, and I am more worthy of your love than this idiot!” Itto screams.

“Please notice me, [Y/N]! I collect every single one of your albums!” Aether screams from behind Itto, trying to shove his way toward you.

“Ignore these idiots; I’m your biggest fan and your most loyal fan! These buffoons are nowhere near my level!” Scaramouche hollers, hovering above you and the men below him.

You crane your head up to look at Scaramouche, who smiles down at you and caresses your face in his hands. Out of spite, Xiao smacks Scaramouche’s hands away from your face with a scowl on his face. You chuckle at them and shake your head.

“I’m assuming you,” you gestured to the twenty-five men in front of you, “are the ones I’ll be meeting backstage after the concert?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at them.

The twenty-five men nod their heads, cheeks flustered. They can’t believe it! You’re talking to them! You know that they exist in your world! They’re breathing the same air as you are and are face-to-face with each other! As much as they wanted to keep their cool, seeing you, their biggest idol and celebrity crush, in person is a whole new experience.

You smile at them. “Well, I look forward to meeting all of you after the concert! The security guards will be guiding you all backstage for the meet and greet,” you said.

In a trance, the men nod their heads, watching you walk back up the stage. Fans are tossing stuffed animals and flowers on stage, trying to get your attention after seeing what Pantalone has done. You chuckle and shake your head, looking over in the men’s direction.

“Oh my gosh, they just looked at us,” Heizou gasps, shaking the person beside him while refusing to take his eyes off you.

“We’re the luckiest fans out of everyone in the stadium; it’s official,” Venti says, crossing his arms over his chest with a big smile on his face.

When the concert is coming to an end, you stand in the middle of the stage and sigh sadly. After this concert, you’re not sure when the next show will be. This performance was the final concert of the tour all over Teyvat, and you did not want the moment to end. You have been touring all over Teyvat to perform in seven different regions. The final concert is held at a huge stadium that is built specifically for your concert alone. That stadium is located on an island outside of Mondstadt and Liyue but a few minutes out of Inazuma.

Because the concert is the final show of the current tour, many people from all over Teyvat traveled to this island just to see you perform. Even if it’s for one night, people are willing to travel far to see you perform your last concert until your next tour, which hasn’t been in the talks yet. The only thing your fans know, so far, is that you’re going to be releasing a new album soon and that you’re going to be making appearances on many shows.

“I don’t want this concert to end,” you sigh sadly into the microphone, sitting in the center of the stage. “I don’t want the fun to end, nor do I want to see you all leave,” you frown.

Loud cries and whines echo throughout the stadium, the fans expressing the same emotions as you. They didn’t want the concert to end and didn’t want to see you go down in the stage trapdoor, leaving them for who knows how long.  

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” You reassure the audience with a small smile, “I’m releasing a new album soon. Will you all listen to the new songs when they’re released?”

The audience screams, making you laugh and slowly stand up. You stretch your arms and sigh, walking over to the wooden stool, picking up a towel, and wiping your sweat. You have been performing for almost two hours, and now it’s time for you to wrap up the concert. You have a fan meet to do after, and you want to freshen up a little bit before meeting your VIP fans. 

You said your goodbye while standing on the stage trapdoor, waving to the fans as the platform below you descended. You’re ushered to the dressing room to freshen up for the meet and greet with the twenty-five VIP fans you have spoken to before the concert ends. Emilia fixes your makeup while Yue restyles your hair, making sure the flyaway hairs and your baby hairs are flat on your head and not all over the place.

“You’re phenomenal, as always,” Emilia says, lightly squeezing your shoulders.

You smile at Emilia. “Thank you, Emilia. What do your niece and her parents think of the concert?” You ask, closing your eyes and letting Emilia lightly brush your under-eye with powder.

“They enjoyed your concert as usual,” Emilia grins.

You smile and press your lips into a thin line, trying your best to remain still while Emilia fixes your makeup to make you look put together. The concert is successful, as always. You’re glad that nothing went haywire on the last show.

“Are you excited to meet your fans? I saw you interacting with them before the concert ended,” Yue murmurs, putting more tinsel in your hair and brushing your hair. 

You chuckle and nod your head, cracking your eyes open to look at Yue and Emilia. “I’m pretty excited to meet them! It’s nice chatting with them towards the end of the concert, but with everything going on, it was hard to hear what they’re saying,” you reply. 

“Too many people trying to interact with you at once, or was it something else?” Yue asks.

You hum and lean back in the chair, reaching for the hand fan to fan yourself. You purse your lips and think for a moment. 

“Yes, that would be one of the reasons. They were all piling up against this black-haired man with glasses, practically squishing him against the stage barrier,” you chuckle. “I feel bad for that happening, and I’m hoping to interact with all of them without any of them getting hurt or squished by the other,” you add. 

“I don’t know, [Y/N]. Your fanboys…. They have familiar faces,” Emilia chuckles, applying lip balm on your lips. “A few of them are Fatui Harbingers, and others are diplomats or archons! Overall, these men are important figures of some sort,” Emilia says, gazing at you with wide eyes.

“Important figures as [Y/N]’s biggest fanboys!? Wow! You’re truly amazing, [Y/N]!” Yue squeals, jumping behind you with glee. “Would you, perhaps, date any of them?” Yue teases, wiggling her eyebrows at you cheekily. 

You feel your face heat up at Yue’s question. You? Dating a fan? Does she not realize how scandalous that is? You turn to Yue and lightly bat at her arm. 

“Yue! Me dating a fan is scandalous! Do you know how upset people will be if I start dating a fan of mine?” You ask, looking at the Liyuen woman with wide eyes.

Yue pouts and crosses her arms over her chest. “Oh, come on, [Y/N]! You can’t be single forever! Plus, there are not many famous male idols in Teyvat. You usually see women that are given this sort of attention compared to the men,” Yue says.

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, Yue. I don’t think about dating much because of how busy I am with my career as an idol. Not only that, but I don’t want my significant other to deal with hate and tabloids,” you sigh, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

Emilia pats your head. “That’s fair, but you can’t be single forever. Especially when you have attractive fanboys,” Emilia jokes, poking you in the ribs lightly. 

“How can you see their faces clearly when colorful lights were strobing in the stadium?” You ask.

“We ran into your fanboys before the concert began. You weren’t at the stadium yet. You were on your way here, and these men were searching around for a restroom, and maybe they were hoping to run into you, but they ran into us instead,” Yue explains, snickering to herself. 

You chuckle and shake your head. The more you think about the fanboys you interact with during the concert, the more you become intrigued with them. Not going to lie; you’re kind of nervous about meeting them backstage. While they admire you and the things you do, you hope that the interaction wouldn’t make them like you any less. 

To put it into perspective, you’re not much of a social person, and having to interact with almost thirty people after a huge performance is a bit nerve-wracking. Ironic, right? You performed in front of thousands of people, and yet you find interacting with twenty-ish people personally is more intimidating than performing in front of thousands of people. Maybe it’s because of your past interaction with a celebrity, but you don’t want your fanboys to be disappointed to see that you’re not the perfect idol they see on billboards, posters, TV shows, album covers, and magazines.

“And we’re done!” You hear Emilia say.

You blink and realize that Emilia and Yue are finished helping you freshen up. You get up from your seat and stretch your arms in the air, groaning. After this meet and greet, you’re going straight to the showers, and you’re going to take a nap right after. 

“So, do I just wait here while the security guards assist the VIP fans to the meet and greet room?” You ask, grabbing the water bottle from the vanity.

Yue shrugs her shoulders. “You’ve been in the dressing room for a while. I’m pretty sure your fanboys are already in the meet-and-greet room,” Yue says, packing up the tools and cleaning the station around her.

“Aw man, I hope I didn’t keep them waiting for too long,” you mutter.

You quickly bid the two women goodbyes before walking out of the dressing room. When you step out of the dressing room, you see Alice and a security guard waiting for you outside of the dressing room. You give the two a brief smile before letting them know that you’re ready to meet the VIP fans.

While you, Alice, and the security guards were on your way to the room where the meet and greet was being held, the room was filled with chatter. Very loud conversations from your twenty-five fanboys.

“Take that off. You look ridiculous!” Diluc sighs, shaking his head at Kaeya.

Kaeya snorts. “Oh, please, brother. You’re wearing the same shirt as I am. Although, white doesn’t suit you at all,” Kaeya says, looking down at the shirt Diluc is wearing.

“Who designed all of [Y/N] concert merchandise? I want to speak to them and give them some advice on how to properly design merchandise without making it look tacky,” Ayato says, holding your concert t-shirt up with a neutral expression.

Thoma clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, covering the concert t-shirt he’s wearing with his arms. “I agree with you, my Lord. Although, I believe the person should be fired instead, and a new merchandise designer should be hired,” Thoma says, scratching the apples of his cheeks awkwardly. 

Kaveh sighs dramatically. “As much as I love [Y/N] and their flawlessness, I believe that their only flaw is hiring the designer,” Kaveh laments, tossing the t-shirt back on the pile of shirts on the table. 

“Yeah, of course, you do. You say that while having another t-shirt stuffed in your back pocket,” Al Haitham snorts. 

Al Haitham reaches behind Kaveh, yanks the shirt from Kaveh’s pants pocket, and waves it in front of the blond man with an eyebrow raised, the corner of his lips quirking up with amusement. Kaveh gapes at Al Haitham and begins to stutter out excuses.

Tighnari pats Kaveh’s back with a smile. “It’s okay if you like the shirt, Kaveh. People have different tastes in clothing. You don’t have to follow the crowd in hating the design of the merchandise,” Tighnari says.

“Exactly. I don’t understand why people would follow along with what others think. If you like something, then you like it. Don’t pretend to dislike something only because a group of people doesn’t like what you do,” Cyno says, walking up to Kaveh, Tighnari, and Al Haitham while wearing your concert merchandise. 

Baizhu lets out a chuckle and props his hands on his hips. “I see that you’re trying to show others that you’re [Y/N]’s biggest fan,” said Baizhu, looking at Cyno from head to toe.

“I disagree. I’m [Y/N]’s biggest fan,” Gorou says, walking over to the group with various concert merchandise in his hands.

Kazuha pokes Gorou’s back. “I think you should get a bag for [Y/N]’s concert merchandise. We wouldn’t want you to drop them on your way out,” said Kazuha.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” Xiao mutters, leaning on the edge of the merchandise table to stretch his aching legs out. 

Dainsleif hums. “They can take as long as they like. They did perform for almost two hours and have to tolerate everyone crowding the barrier to talk to them,” Dainsleif says nonchalantly.

“And by crowding the barrier, you mean crushing me against the steel stage barrier because [Y/N] looked in my direction and talked to me,” Pantalone huffs, rubbing his lower abdomen where the steel barrier dug into while the twenty-four other men crowded around him just to get your attention.

Albedo shrugs his shoulders. “You sort of did that to yourself, Pantalone,” Albedo says. 

Dottore snickers behind his hands before nudging Pantalone with his elbow. “He’s not wrong there, Pantalone. You tried to find a way to get [Y/N]’s attention, and you were successful! However, every action has consequences,” Dottore smirks.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone, but it seems like [Y/N] is about to make an appearance very soon,” Zhongli speaks up.

Everyone turns to look at Zhongli quizzically. Zhongli sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before gesturing towards the entrance of the room. Everyone in the room falls silent; they can hear three pairs of footsteps approaching the room where the meet and greet is being held. Not only can they hear footsteps getting closer to the room, but the voices are getting louder the closer the footsteps get. 

“They’re in this room, right?” The group of men hears you ask.

“Yes, the meet and greet are being held in this room!” They hear a woman say eagerly.

The door is opened by the security guard. The security guard makes eye contact with each man and nods his head before turning around to gesture for you to enter the room. The men in the room panic and begin to fix their clothes, making sure they look presentable. You walk into the room and smile at the men in front of you. 

“Hello! It’s great to see you all again after the concert! Our interaction was cut short due to the concert and the concert coming to an end. I hope I’ll be able to talk with each of you without any interruptions,” you joyfully said, clasping your hands together in front of you. 

Pierro smiles at you and bows at you, his right hand placed over his chest. “It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]. Your performance is flawless and enchanting, as always. I’m honored to be able to watch you perform live,” Pierro says, straightening his posture.

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ears. Your little gesture made the others subtly raise their eyebrows, jealousy beginning to simmer inside of them.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the concert! It makes me incredibly happy to know that people enjoy the performance!” You said, smiling at Pierro. 

“You needn’t worry about what people think of your performance. You’re a world-class performer, a very respected idol, and a huge inspiration and role model for all,” Capitano says gruffly.

You cover both of your flushed cheeks with your hands. “Oh, stop! You’re making me blush!” You said, covering your face.

Archons, can you get any cuter? You’re so cute! The way you cover your cheeks with your hands to hide the blush on your cheeks, you try to keep your professional facade while treating them like an acquaintance. However, they wish it was more than a fan and idol interaction); you speak to them casually instead of the conversation being tense and awkward. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, have you eaten anything yet?” Zhongli asks.

You shake your head. “Not yet! But I will be getting something to eat after the meet and greet! Although I’m not sure where I’ll be going,” you trailed off, pinching the fat of your chin with your lips puckered. 

“You don’t have to worry about that, [Y/N]. Mister Zhongli over here is generous enough to send a food stall to your concert for you personally. As the creator and founder of the biggest [Y/N] Fanclub of all of Teyvat, Zhongli is the one that sends the gifts, food stalls, and does many things for you and the fans,” Childe says, patting the funeral consultant’s shoulders with a big smile on his face.

Aether looks at Zhongli with wide eyes and points at Zhongli with an accusing finger. “You’re Interstellar Idol!? The one that is at every single fan event that is hosted for [Y/N]!?” Aether exclaims in disbelief. 

“He’s also the one that goes all out when it comes to [Y/N],” Heizou whispers, staring at the flustered ex-Archon with wide eyes.

Itto raises his hand in the air. “Hold up! I thought he was broke! Like, borrowing other people’s Mora and never paying them back kind of broke,” Itto says, fiddling with his thumbs while looking at Zhongli skeptically. 

Al Haitham rolls his eyes. “He’s not broke, Itto. Zhongli just forgets to bring his wallet,” Al Haitham corrects Itto, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“As if that’s any better,” Kaveh mutters under his breath. 

You stare at Zhongli with your mouth agape before making your way to the flustered archon. You stand in front of Zhongli, pointing at him. “You’re running my biggest Fanclub, did you know that?” You whisper.

Zhongli clears his throat and nods his head shyly, cheeks pink, the tips of his ears just as pink as the apples of his cheeks. You’re very familiar with the Fanclub called Interstellar Idol; they’re your biggest fanbase of all Teyvat. How can you not know them? They’re at every milestone of yours and have been at your side since the beginning of your career as an idol. If it weren’t for the Fanclub, Interstellar Idol, you wouldn’t be as known as you are now. 

“Is it okay if I give you a hug?” You whisper shyly.

Zhongli looks at you with wide eyes before slowly nodding his head. A big smile appears on your face, and you hug Zhongli, your arms wrapping around his waist. “Thank you for being there with me every step of my career. I appreciate the support, and I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you and the Fanclub, Interstellar Idol,” you murmur, looking up at Zhongli.

“Hey! I want my hug, tooooo!” Venti whines, stomping his foot on the ground playfully. 

You pull away from the hug and laugh. “Alright, I’ll give each of you a hug or a handshake. It’s your choice! Then if any of you want to take a picture, or want anything signed, let me know after!” You said. 

“Just to let you know, Zhongli may be the creator and founder of your biggest Fanclub; all of us,” Thoma gestures to the other men in the room, including himself, “are also well-known [Y/N] fanboys,” Thoma says proudly.

You prop your hands on your hips. “Is that so?” You ask, looking at them curiously. “Care to tell me what each of you does as fans of mine? I’m quite curious,” You said, tilting your head to the side.

Diluc clears his throat loudly. “Let’s discuss this later,” Diluc interjects, looking away with red blossoming on his cheeks.

Kaeya leans toward you while pointing his thumb at Diluc. “Diluc collects your albums and posters. However, he doesn’t have as many as I do,” Kaeya snickers behind his hands.

Diluc narrows his eyes at Kaeya and grabs him by the shirt collar, pulling him back. Kaeya looks over at Diluc with a smug smile on his face. Diluc’s face was almost as red as his hair after Kaeya exposed Diluc’s secret hobby to you, the biggest idol of Teyvat and their celebrity crush. 

“You didn’t hear this from me, but Cyno writes fanfictions about you. His stories are very popular throughout Teyvat,” Tighnari whispers to you.

Cyno looks over at Tighnari, his eyes wide. “What did you say?” Cyno demands, stomping over to you and Tighnari.

“Oh, Cyno. There’s no shame in writing fanfictions! I used to write them myself as well,” you reassure General Mahamatra with a smile on your face.

Ayato looks at you with interest. “And who did you write about?” Ayato asks, raising an eyebrow at you in a teasing manner.

You gaped at Ayato and cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck and looking away from the Kamisato heir. There’s no way you’re going to expose yourself even more when you have already revealed your “secret” to the men in front of you. 

“As you said earlier, there’s no shame in writing fanfictions!” Baizhu sing-song, smiling at you innocently.

You pucker your lips and shake your head. “We’re not close enough for me to expose my secrets even more,” you joke. 

Dottore slides his arm over your shoulders. “I’m sure by the end of the meet and greet; we’ll be closer than ever for you to tell us who you wrote fanfictions of,” Dottore chuckles, smiling down at you.

You squint your eyes at Dottore and look at the other men. “We’ll see about that,” you stroke your chin.

You walk over to Xiao, who’s quietly observing you with curiosity. Despite being a massive idol in Teyvat, you’re still humble, and you interact with your fans like ordinary people instead of putting up a wall between you and your fans. You’re grateful for all of the support you have been receiving since day one of your career as an idol, and you continue to be thankful for your fans, your manager, and everyone around you that made your career happen. 

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, pulling Xiao from his thoughts.

Xiao blinks at you and clears his throat, the apples of his cheeks turning bright pink. “It’s nothing,” Xiao says.

You look at him curiously. “If it’s nothing, then how come you weren’t answering me when I called  your name a couple of times?” You tease.

Xiao clears his throat, his face turning bright red. “You know my name?” Xiao asks, his eyes almost as wide as dinner plates.

“We told them your name,” said Gorou, giving Xiao a small smile. 

Scaramouche sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t mind him. This is his first time going to your concert, and I think his mind is still trapped at the concert,” Scaramouche comments, a small smirk appearing on his face. 

Kazuha shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, you can’t blame him for that. [Y/N]’s concerts are always mesmerizing and memorable,” Kazuha says, patting Xiao’s back.

Xiao hesitates for a moment, his face turning a darker shade of red. How is he going to talk to you when he can’t get the words out of his mouth? Xiao feels like he’s running out of time with you, and he wants to cherish every moment with you before having to deal with reality again. The reality of having to deal with his karmic debt, the reality of having to watch over Liyue, the reality of you being so far from him performing all over the world while he’s stuck in Liyue. Your music and your presence ease his mind and worries. Zhongli looks over at Xiao, a faint smile appearing on his face. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head.

“He’s a big fan of yours,” Zhongli says, placing his hand on Xiao’s shoulders. 

Xiao’s face continues to grow hot; he nods and scratches the back of his neck shyly. You smile and press both of your hands over your heart. 

“It makes me really happy to hear that you’re a fan of mine, Xiao! With every love and support I receive from my fans, I really do appreciate it. I appreciate each of you,” You said.

Alice walks up to you and stands beside you, locking gazes with Albedo. She smiles at him and nods to him. “Hello, Albedo! How are you doing, sweetheart? What do you think of [Y/N]’s concert?” Alice asks.

A small smile appears on Albedo’s face. “Hello, Alice. I’m doing well! I really enjoyed [Y/N]’s performance. Seeing them perform in person makes me realize why they earned the title ‘world-class performer,’” Albedo says. 

Dainsleif nudges Albedo. “You know [Y/N]’s agent?” He mutters to the light blond-haired male.

Albedo nods his head. “You can say that she is a family member of mine. However, I see Klee, Alice’s daughter, as a little sister of mine. Alice insisted that I call her mother,” Albedo briefly explains.

Pantalone lets out a thoughtful hum. “Then that means you know [Y/N] before their career?” Pantalone asks. 

“We’ve met a few times, but we barely spoke to each other because of how busy the chief alchemist is,” you answer. “It’s nice to see you again, Albedo. Thank you for coming to my concert. Your support means a lot to me,” you said. 

Albedo gives you a shy smile and looks away, his face almost as red as Xiao’s face. You laugh to yourself before turning to the next person beside Albedo. Itto, who is wearing all of your concert merchandise with the sign in his hands and a bandana with your name on it wrapped around his forehead. When you make eye contact with Itto, Itto looks like he’s about to pass out right on the spot.

“I’m assuming you’re my biggest fan?” You ask.

Itto nods his head, gulping. “I love your music so much. I have posters of you all over my wall, I collect every album you have released, along with magazines you’re on the cover of, and I try to go as many fan meets as I can along with your concert,” Itto rambles. 

Childe snorts and leans toward Zhongli. “Simp,” Childe mutters. 

Zhongli rolls his eyes. “As if none of us are that as well,” Zhongli mutters to the ginger-haired Harbinger, nudging Childe. 

“So, are you implying that Itto is a bigger [Y/N] fan than you?” Dainsleif asks, raising an eyebrow at Childe.

“Of course not! [Y/N] knows that I’m their biggest fan because I show up to every meet and greet they host throughout Teyvat! I also go to every single one of their concerts if I get the chance to go!” Childe huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Diluc rolls his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that,” Diluc snorts.

“If you’re confused, Diluc is implying that he’s a bigger fan of [Y/N] than you are,” Kaeya says, pointing his thumb over at Diluc.

Venti laughs and pops up between Kaeya and Diluc. “You may be a big fan of [Y/N], but do any of you make covers of their music? I don’t think so!” Venti huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Covering a song? What does that mean?” Ayato asks Thoma.

“Venti sings [Y/N]’s songs and posts them for people to see. I believe that Venti has a lot of views on each cover he has posted,” Thoma explains.

Venti props his hands on his hips with a proud smile on his face. Itto hands you a pen with shaky hands, asking you to sign the album he has brought with him. Itto would have you sign every album he has owned, but it would be too many, and Itto doesn’t think he can carry it all with him even if he makes Gorou assist him. You grab the pen from Itto’s grasp and begin signing the album. Your handwriting is elegant and legible; seeing you sign the album in front of his own eyes is a memory he will cherish forever. Speaking of cherishing memories, Itto quickly pulls his Kamera out from his bag and takes a quick picture of you signing the album.

“Itto! You just can’t take pictures of [Y/N] while they’re signing your album!” Gorou hisses, smacking Itto’s biceps.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind getting my pictures taken. After all, I am used to it,” you said, smiling at Gorou.

Gorou feels his face turn hot the minute you smile at him. Gorou covers the lower part of his face with his hand and looks away, his tail giving him away. You finish up signing Itto’s album and begin signing Itto’s sign that he brought to the concert. When he receives your signed album and his sign with your autograph on it, Itto squeals loudly and tackles you into a hug while blabbering about how much he loves you and how you make him so happy. 

“Hey! Let’s not tackle [Y/N] into a bone-crushing hug now, Itto!” Baizhu says, laughing nervously as he tries to get Itto off of you. 

Aether snorts. “Listen, Itto may have the abs, but he doesn’t have the biceps to crush [Y/N] and their bones,” Aether says, poking at Itto’s arms.

“I call dibs standing next to [Y/N] when we take group pictures!” Heizou announces, raising his hand in the air with a triumphant smile. 

Kaveh lets out a loud scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t call dibs! It’s not fair for the rest of us!” Kaveh protests, glaring at Heizou.

“Yeah, Heizou. If you were to call dibs on standing beside [Y/N] in the pictures, it wouldn’t be fair for the rest of us,” Al Haitham says. 

You chuckle and walk over to the center of the meet-and-greet room after Itto has released you from his hug. You watch the men debate on who should stand next to you (spoiler: all of them said themselves). In the end, you end up taking a bunch of group pictures because each man wanted to stand beside you in the picture, which you didn’t mind at all! They’re all hilarious and sweet about it, plus you didn’t really have anything else planned after the meet and greet other than get something to eat. 

“I’m going to cherish this picture forever,” Tighnari says, staring at the film in his hands with a faint smile.

You feel your stomach growl; now that you think about it, Zhongli did say something about renting a food stall for you after the concert. Perhaps you can invite them to keep you company while you eat. Maybe they can get something to eat, too, since you’re unsure if they had anything to eat prior to the concert. 

Before you can ask the men if they want to join you, you walk over to Alice and the security guard. You need Alice’s thoughts (and permission) first before inviting the men. Alice gives you a thumbs up, making you sigh in relief. You walk over to the men, who are still bickering over who should’ve been the first one to stand next to you in the group picture. 

You tap on Cyno’s shoulders, grabbing the white-haired man’s attention.

“Do you guys want to join me at the food stall? I’m about to get something to eat, and I would like all of you to join me. If you’re hungry, you can get something to eat at the food stall, and if not, you can just hang out and chat with each other,” you said.

“I would love to!” Cyno says, smiling at you. 

“We would love to keep you company,” Pierro says, nodding.

“I’m starting to feel famished, so why not?” said Scaramouche. 

Kazuha holds his arm out for you to take. “Shall we go and get something to eat at the food stall?” Kazuha asks.

You link your arms with his and nod. “We shall.”

“Hey! I want to lock arms with them too!” You hear Childe whine.

You hear Capitano scoff. “Quit your whining, and let’s get something to eat,” Capitano says, looking at Childe.

You all walk to the back entrance of the stadium venue. Outside is a long line of food stalls rented by Zhongli for you to eat after the performance. There was so much food to choose from, and you’re not sure where to start!

“Zhongli, you’re a godsend,” you said, walking to the nearest food stall with excitement. 

“It’s funny because he’s actually the Geo arch— Oof!” Childe groans when Zhongli elbows him in the gut with a straight face.

“I believe we should get food now,” Zhongli states nonchalantly, shooting a look over in Childe’s direction. 

Childe pouts and nods his head before trailing after Zhongli while the others go to grab food from the stalls to eat. Usually, this isn’t how your meet and greets end, but a little change is nice sometimes. Who knew your career would take off so fast and land you in this situation, surrounded by your fanboys while eating food in each other’s company? 

Note: I have another AU coming out next week! I have no idea why I've been getting a lot of AU ideas, but I think the upcoming AU should be the last one for now. Other than AUs, I do have some ideas for mini-fics as well and I'm really hoping I can type them out and get them posted. I've been busy with school and my winter schedule has been keeping me out of my house for hours until early evening 😵‍💫 This next part is copied and pasted; For those who want to be on my new taglist, here is the link to the taglist [Genshinluvr Updated Taglist Form]! Please make sure that you allow people to mention you/tag you in posts, or else I won't be able to tag you in any future fanfics! And as usual, I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @alhaitham-scribe, @xyji, @kazuhasmuse, @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @kwelibeeery, @yumakj, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @honeybedo, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @mompt2, @living-my-best-life5, @chalksdreams, @rinswriting, @thelost-in-time, @mxn14, @ventisweetheart, @unwantedsleep, @kattythesimp, @hispasian-otaku, @Orah-s, @juuuuuj101010, @nxns3nse, @sickly-falling, @alteeeeyang, @wind1y, @wh0-ta0, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @HistoryNerd™️, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado (If your name has been crossed out, it means that your account did not show up when I try to tag your account. Please make sure to allow people to mention you and tag you in posts and make sure the spelling, symbols, and numbers are correct)

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[museofreverie]

Chapter 07 ⋆ Held Captive

WAYS OF FREEDOM┊Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Modern Fem!Reader ┊2nd POV

In which a chronically online Gen Z that went through the pandemic goes to the Attack on Titan Universe and tries her very best to change the ending with an "I can fix him" mentality.

⋆ CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 3.9k words

⋆ WARNINGS: manga spoilers

⋆ AUTHOR's NOTE: This entire chapter was so fun to write before because I remember watching those TikTok vids of what happens when 'you randomly wake up in the AOT universe' and I knew fans would be in disbelief and fangirl on the spot but also have doubts if this was real LMAO. Hope you have fun reading!

← prev chapter ┊ next chapter →

𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟖𝟓𝟏.

“ABOUT DAMN TIME you woke up.”

          At the sound of a gruff voice with a deep french accent, your head snapped toward the direction of the owner in the dimly lit cell. Your eyes widened as you recognized it was none other than Levi Ackerman himself. 

          He was accompanied by Hange, Mikasa, and Armin trailing closely behind him. The flickering light from a lone candle danced across their faces, sending shivers down your spine at the sight of them all together, their presence adding an air of tension and danger to the already claustrophobic room.

          Your breath hitched as your palm went to cover your mouth.

          Holy shit.

          They really were real.

          As in real people.

          Fucking hell, they were in front of you.

          The hand covering your mouth instinctively went up to touch your wound, reminding you of your reality. 

          You winced. 

          This is insane! Your mind screamed.

          You still couldn’t believe it. Just a few minutes ago — wait, a few days ago you reminded yourself — these were the characters from your favorite manga and anime series you cried for. 

          Cried for! You cried and mourned for them even though they were supposed to be fictional, yet now they were real. Real people in front of you. 

          Damn, I feel like Thor in that scene with Loki in Ragnarok!

          Your mind was screaming with excitement and disbelief and heck, the fangirl in you even screamed at the thought of how many fans would kill to be in your position right now.

          You stole a quick glance at Eren whose intense gaze was already fixed on their arrival. Feeling nervous and awkward, you tried to break the tension with a joke replying to Levi.

          Gosh, you were replying to Levi! The Levi Ackerman!

          “To be fair, that was the best sleep I’ve ever had,” you said with a nervous chuckle before immediately keeping your mouth shut and regretting it. 

          Your stomach churned, and your hands anxiously grasped the iron bars, knowing these people were natural skeptics, hardened soldiers who had dedicated their entire lives to protecting humanity in this brutal world. A mere joke won’t get through them just like that. You braced yourself for their scrutiny, knowing they would want to know every detail of where you came from and how you ended up here on the island.

          You gulped, as the only thing you could do to save yourself from embarassment was touch your necklace for comfort.

          Levi remained unfazed by your attempt at humor and instead crossed his arms in boredom. Feeling intimidated by his stoic demeanor, you shifted your focus to Hange who was practically beaming at you with curiosity. 

          With a jaunty wave and a bright smile, Hange introduced themselves to you. “Hello! My name is Hange Zoe. Commander of the Survey Corps here in Paradis Island.”

          Despite their intimidating eye patch beneath their odd looking glasses, Hange exuded a welcoming presence that put you at ease amongst the others  who were still suspicious of you. You wouldn’t really blame them for doing their job at being wary of an outlander who had mysteriously appeared in their land in the middle of nowhere. Literally. But as you caught a glimpse of Hange’s exhausted appearance, your heart sank for a moment, knowing the constant struggles and sacrifices they must have faced as the new Commander.

          Especially after losing Erwin.

          At this, you offered Hange a small smile. “Hello.”

          Seeing your response, Hange wasted no time in interrogating you about your origins and intentions and all you could do was blink. Hange eagerly questioned, “What’s your name? Why were you outside the walls? Are you a shifter? And where did you come from—?”

          “Tsk, calm down, Hange.”

          Too stunned to speak, your gaze flickered back and forth to Hange and Levi, the iconic dynamic between these two being evident. Their personalities were like two sides of a coin yet they seemed to complement each other perfectly.

          And then all of a sudden, you were hit by the memory of that panel of them in the manga. The pain from seeing them both being so vulnerable in accepting their fate alone was still so fresh and all of this was just too much for you to handle.

          Sensing that tears almost formed in your eyes, you cleared your throat to get rid of the overwhelming feeling before opening your mouth to speak, your name rolling off your tongue with ease.

          Hange attempted to pronounce your name, but to no avail, they made a mistake and you gladly helped to correct them.

          “So, Y/N,” started Hange, “As you’ve noticed, we’re here to talk. How exactly did you end up outside the walls?”

          You gulped at the question and your eyes flickered to Armin who brought out a notebook and pen to probably record your words.

          Shit. What exactly do you say to them?

          “I. . . I . . .”

          You were aware that your sudden appearance on Paradis Island had taken them by surprise and they were determined to uncover any potential threats or liabilities. Perhaps that was why they had thrown you in this cell without explanation in the first place, because you could only assume that it was because they saw you as a potential threat. 

          You bit your lip hard and sighed. “I’m not sure.”

          The members of the Survey Corps exchanged looks of confusion before Hange spoke up again. “You’re not sure? Why is that?”

          A hand went through your hair and you realized some strands were tangled at the end. You purse your lips into a thin line in frustration. “It’s. . . complicated.”

          “How complicated?”

          “Well. . . I can’t fully explain it myself. And you probably won’t believe me, anyway.”

          “Just admit that you’re a spy from Marley so we can be over this already,” interrupted Levi, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

          At this accusation, your brows furrowed and a look of hurt flashed across your face. “What? You thought I was a spy? Oh, hell no!” you exclaimed, incredulous.

          Taking a deep breath, you replied cautiously. "Look, I’m not a spy. I just — come from a place. . . far away from here.” 

          Your eyes darted around nervously, careful not to reveal too much.

          “How far exactly?” asked Armin.

          Hange's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Far away? How did you end up so far away?" they asked. “How is that even possible? There were no ships on sight, but only the lightning on the place we saw you.”

          How much could you reveal without putting yourself in danger? How could you explain the truth without sounding insane?

          “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

          “Where exactly do you come from?”

          They were insistent, you noted.

         You took a deep breath before telling them about your country. The least you could do was give them little information about you. 

         Hange looked puzzled and said, “I’ve never heard of such a place.” They turned their attention towards Eren. “Is it far from Marley?”

          Eren, who was quiet the entire time, shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

          “That’s because it’s not from here,” you said, cutting them off. “It doesn’t matter, really. As for how I got here, well. . . I was sleeping in the sand. . . ?” 

          At their unconvinced looks, you sighed and raised your hands in defeat. “Okay, fine! I don’t know how I got here, okay? It doesn’t even matter if you believe me or not. . . I’m already stuck in this prison, anyway.”

          You knew deep down that telling them about your recurring dreams would only make things worse. But Hange's serious expression made you rethink keeping the truth hidden.

          "It matters to us more than you know,” they implored. “You will not leave this cell until you tell us more about how you got here.”

          "I swear I mean no harm," you pleaded. “Look, please believe me when I tell you I have no ill intentions toward you guys or — or be a spy as you say — I just want to go home,” you said, desperation creeping into your voice.

          Hange thought carefully about your words. Your eyes searched for sympathy in their faces.

          There was none.

          “Alright, then. . .” trailed Hange, frowning. "Perhaps you can tell us what this is?"

          Your heart skipped a beat as Hange held up the object in question.

          You gasped realizing what it was. 

          My phone! Your mouth went dry.

          “Where — where did you — where did you get that?” you asked anxiously, stumbling over your words.

          “Oh, this?" said Hange casually. 

          You nodded eagerly, gripping the bars of your cell tightly. 

          "One of my soldiers discovered it near where we found you. We believe it belongs to you, but we weren't certain. So tell us, what is this device? Is it some sort of weapon from where you came from? Or a form of communication? Hmm, Sasha did say she saw her face before it disappeared. Well, that was odd."

          “What?” you said dumbfoundedly.

          “So what is this then?” Hange prodded, their curiosity piqued.

          Your heart raced as you gulped nervously. 

          Don’t say anything. A voice in the back of your mind warned you not to reveal any information, knowing it could potentially be used against you. Unable to speak, you simply shook your head hesitantly. 

          Don’t say anything.

          “Eh? Not even a name?”

          Don’t say anything.

          You kept quiet and shook your head again, letting go of the cell as silence lingered.

          Don’t say anything.

          "Well," Hange said, tapping their chin thoughtfully. "It's settled then. I won't give it back to you."

          Your eyes almost bulge. “What? No! Please —”

          “Well, you can have it back if you can tell us what it does," they challenged, holding out your phone expectantly. “But for now, it belongs to the Survey Corps.”

          Hange's decision was made, you noted.

          "Please — please don't do anything to it. Please," you begged desperately. Your eyes fell to Armin. “I'll tell you what it is, but please. . . don’t try to do anything to it, I beg you. . .”

          And that was that. With not much information gained from you, they left with a promise to to return at some point, but where did that leave you now? Stuck in a creaking prison bed, your heart shattered into fragments as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

          This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

          You tried to gaslight yourself that this wasn’t your reality now. No. It can’t be. This couldn't be happening. It was all just a nightmare. This wasn't your reality. 

          This isn’t real.

          But the cold, hard walls around you and the stifling air in your cell were constant reminders that this was all too real.

          And for a moment, you felt like it was the start of the pandemic all over again.

          Stuck and alone.

          “This isn’t real. . .”

          And the only thing you could do now is play with your necklace for comfort, muttering words over and over again. 

          “This isn’t real. . . This isn’t real. . .”

          Hange always knew what to do.

          When Erwin Smith died, the position of being the Commander was passed to them to take charge of the Survey Corps. It was a huge burden to bear, but with Levi by their side, Hange knew how to move forward. 

          And so Hange always knew what to do during times of turmoil in the Survey Corps.

          It was never easy, per se, but they had a natural curiosity and drive for knowledge that often led them to seek out new discoveries which helped them. And it was this same thirst for knowledge that had drawn them to join the Survey Corps in the first place. 

          But as Hange stood in their office, mulling over the mysterious item they had found outside the walls and now held in their hand, they were at a loss for what to do next.

          Yes, the Survey Corps always had a plan to whatever is laid upon them, but this was different. Perhaps they will come up with a plan later on, but now, they have none.

          Hange did not know what to do.

          It had been a few days after that interrogation with you, and still, no information out of your mouth. They tried visiting again but you were always asleep whenever they came to talk to you.

          “I don’t buy it, Hange.” 

          Levi finally spoke up, breaking their reverie.

          Hange blinked.

          The weight of Levi’s suspicion and scrutiny lingered in the air and Hange sighed heavily at his words.

          “I know. . .” said Hange, “. . . there’s more to it. I can feel it. And with the way she reacted, this object seemed important to her.”

          Hange placed the object on the table and tried to take a sip of their tea that Levi prepared. “Do you think it’s used for communication? Or perhaps something more? I don’t think it’s a weapon. It doesn’t look like it could explode any time soon. . .”

          “It’s obvious that she’s hiding something about it.”

          “I know that.”

          “So I’m in for a torture if that’s the only option for us to have her talk.” Levi declared, like it was nothing new.

          Hange shook their head, and grabbed the object to inspect it once again. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Levi.”

          “And why is that?”

          “The evidence is right there. She’s no shifter and is quite far away from where she came from.”

          “But it’s not enough for us to trust her.”

          Levi was right. But still, Hange couldn't shake off their gut feeling that there was more to this stranger than met the eye.

          “I know.”

          They already had this conversation before. But with you regaining consciousness and not muttering a word at what the object does seemed to be a problem to them. 

          But their conversation got interrupted when Armin bursted into the room, panting and out of breath.

          “Commander Hange—” Armin saluted before quickly catching his breath to deliver the urgent message. “—it’s about the Military Police.”

          “The Military Police?” said Hange.

          Armin nodded, trying to make his face remain stoic. “Yes. I overheard a few of their soldiers talking about the rumors regarding our captive being a shifter. They wanted to take custody of her after they received news that she’s awake. They believe that even though the Survey Corps found her, it was up to them to imprison her under the Military Police’s name and not ours. And also. . . they seemed to be asking for a trial.”

          “Unbelievable,” Hange breathed. 

          At this, Levi clicked his tongue in annoyance. 

          The Military Police always seemed to be looking for excuses to assert their power and control, even if it wasn’t their choice to make. He could feel his blood boil with anger.

          Not those bastards again, he thought to himself before dismissing Armin. “Return to your duties again and gather the others once you are done. We will have a meeting later to discuss this matter.”

          “Yes, Captain.” Armin nodded to the both of them and was now out of sight.

          He turned to Hange and said, “We need to do something.”

          Hange’s jaw clenched in frustration. Just moments ago, they were discussing this topic and now it seemed like their fears were coming true. 

          “We found her first,” Hange said. “We found her outside the walls, not here, therefore she is under our jurisdiction.”

          “If they decide to take her, we may not have a choice,” argued Levi.

          Hange took a deep breath. “This is ridiculous! The Survey Corps found her first. And why are they even doing this? There’s no need for a trial!”

          Levi let out a frustrated sigh. They were already dealing with so much chaos and sacrifice, and now this happens? 

          “What do you suggest we do?”

          Hange's expression hardened as they made up their mind.

          “Let’s go, Levi. We’re going to have a little chat with them.”

          Hange and Levi wasted no time and immediately went to confront the Military Police in their headquarters. 

          Nile Dok, the commander of the Military, was taken aback by their sudden arrival. He sighed, the corners of his mustache frowning. “I’m guessing the news reached you two already.”

          Hange gave a curt nod.

          “This wasn’t my idea,” was all Nile said. 

          Levi crossed his arms. “Doesn’t matter. The Military Police do not need to call for a trial over this one. The Survey Corps has it under control.”

          One of the members of the Military Police scoffed loudly. 

          “Under control? You call it under control? You couldn’t even handle what those traitors did before! We cannot afford another incident like that!”

          Hange stepped forward, their expression stern. “I assure you that the Survey Corps has this under control. The stranger poses no threat to humanity as we’ve checked before that she isn’t a shifter. I understand your concerns but it seems that you are only using this as an excuse—”

          “And how can we trust your word?” One of the Military Police officers said, clearly not convinced by Hange’s words. “After all, wasn’t it the members of the Survey Corps who caused more damage than good within the walls? That Eren may have blocked the hole before but that doesn’t guarantee that there won’t be any new trouble coming from you!”

          Another officer spoke up, his voice gruff and full of disdain. “And what about her allegiance, huh? How do we know she isn’t working for Marley? She could be a spy! Have you already forgotten what the Female Titan did to our soldiers?!” 

          Levi stepped forward, his glare aimed at the officers. He argued, “Have you already forgotten that Annie Leonhart was from the Military Police? Therefore was your responsibility?” 

          The tension in the room was palpable as both sides stood their ground.

          Levi then turned towards Hange and continued. “The Survey Corps will conduct further investigation about this matter. Whether she is a threat or not. What worries me is if we turn her over to you, what happens then? You put the blame on us for what happened with the Female Titan, but it seems you have only shown your incompetence in handling matters like this.”

          The officer did not say anything and merely scoffed.

          Finally, Nile spoke again. 

          “Look,” Nile said with a resigned tone. “We will try to hold off on the trial for now. But the others will still demand for it. We’ll give you a few days to try to settle this. You must promise that this individual will be under constant watch for any suspicious activity.”

          To Hange, it seemed like Nile was against this but only followed the orders of his fellow officers. 

          Hange and Levi exchanged glances. 

          “A trial is still too much,” Hange tried to argue. “But for what it’s worth, we will do our best to have her detained and remain in our custody.”

          And with none left to be said, Hange and Levi left.

          Now back in the headquarters of the Survey Corps, Hange had to drink another tea prepared by Levi to not go insane by what just happened.

          Levi broke the silence. “The brats are on their way.”

          Hange’s fist clenched in frustration and almost banged their head on the table. “How could they—!”

          “Keep your shit together, Hange. I said the brats are on their way.”

          “What do we do, Levi?”

          And so a few minutes later, Hange found themselves sitting at the head of the table, throwing a quick glance amongst their gathered subordinates—Mikasa, Armin, Eren, Jean, Connie, and Sasha who are members of the Levi Squad, were all present in the meeting to discuss their next course of action on what to do about you. 

           And Levi was in the corner, drinking his tea.

          “What seems to be the matter, Commander Hange?” 

          They all looked at Hange expectantly, eager to know what to do about the situation.

          “That is why you are all gathered here.” Hange’s voice was laced with tension as they addressed the group. The urgent matter at hand weighed heavily on their mind. 

          “As you all know, we need to come up with a plan to handle this. . . situation.” Hange paused, searching for the right word to describe the mysterious stranger that had been brought before them. “There will be a trial for our captive set by the Military Police.”

          The group reacted in unison, a mixture of shock and disbelief.

          “Meaning that they want to take her into their custody,” Levi interjected.

          Their expressions became grim. 

          “Did this person even give any explanation for her sudden appearance?” asked Jean.

          Hange nodded. “Yes, but the information she has given us seemed. . . off. Like she’s hiding something. Levi suspected she may be a spy for Marley, but the girl strongly denied it.”

          “It seemed like she knew something.” Eren interjected, his brows furrowed.

          “What do you mean, Eren?” Armin questioned, stealing a quick glance with Mikasa.

          “She said she woke up sleeping in the sand, Armin. This is the first time we reached the ocean. Meaning she’s not from inside the walls.”

          “Exactly,” said Hange. “The object that Sasha found, well, it is rather strange. . . and I can’t quite put a finger on it but there is something about her that doesn’t add up.”

          “Like with what I’ve suspected, there are also suspicions from the Military Police that she may be a shifter or a spy. But it’s clear that she doesn’t heal,” said Levi.

          “But why would they think that?” Sasha asked.

          “It’s likely due to her mysterious background and sudden appearance,” Hange argued. “They see it as too much of a coincidence seeing as it’s only been a year since the attack of the Beast Titan.”

          “Perhaps talking to General Zachary about this could help?” offered Armin. 

          “It’s too late. The Military Police already did that. And asking Historia for this would be too much.”

          Mikasa spoke up for the first time since arriving at the meeting. “She poses no threat to us as long as she is imprisoned.”

          “Yeah,” agreed Connie. “She’s locked up so why would they want her to be imprisoned under the Military Police? It’s not like she’ll escape or anything.”

          “We should talk to her again, Commander Hange,” Armin said with a firm tone. 

          Hange nodded in agreement. “Yes, I think that’s the best plan for now. Then sooner or later, we find out if she’s dangerous or not. But I am curious as to why she doesn’t want me to touch the object.” 

          Hange hummed, placing a finger under their chin. “Could be helpful if we find out what this object is for after I try to run some experiments on it. . .”

          “This meeting is adjourned.” Levi’s cold voice echoed through the room as he dismissed the group. His gaze settled at Armin. “Everyone else can leave except for you. Prepare to take down notes when we visit later.”

          Eren jumped to his feet. “I’ll come too,” he said with determination.

          “No.”

          “But Captain—” Eren tried to argue.

          “I said no.”

          But Eren was insistent. “My father’s memories might hold some answers. It might be able to help us figure out if she’s telling the truth or not.”

          “Eren,” said Mikasa with a warning tone.

          Armin shifted uncomfortable in his seat, his brow furrowing with worry. “I don’t think that’s wise, Eren. . .”

          “Armin’s right,” said Levi. But with one look at Hange’s state, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his temples.

          “Fine,” Levi relented after a few seconds. “But stay back and don’t interfere. The rest of you are dismissed. Return now to your duties.”

          Mikasa turned to Levi with a glare. “If Eren is going, then so will I.”

          Levi glared back. “Stop disobeying my orders, you brat.” He tried to ignore her and went for another tea.

          “Enough of that,” Hange interrupted with a determined look. “Let’s hope our captive talks this time. We’re paying that prison cell a visit again.”

To be continued . . .

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[ebitenpura]

still having brainrot over Eight and Lana's own commander-and-outlander relationship bc i can't fucking sleep and have to make flop posts, but the day before he leaves is the day they sit down with one another atop his ship, watching the sunrise. (I guess this counts as a WIP whenever but I've slacked so hard this month I don't even remember how or what i've been tagged in...OTL)

they've both been made aware of one another. Lana's incomparably guilty. Eight looks at her and sighs.

"Be proud, Lana Beniko. Yours is the shield that our enemies dashed themselves on, that guaranteed a new future for all those you held dear. If you're at a loss for what to say to me: don't. No other would go so far. That is why we won."

For once in her life, Lana finds no speeches at the tip of her tongue, no ready-made phrasing that does just enough; she merely stares at her friend, (her hand), and stammers.

"I... don't know what to say. Eight, I..."

"I just told you not to." The spy feigns irritation with a roll of his eyes, then cracks a smile at her, faint and fleeting as the breaking dawn. "Neither of us were very good at listening to each other, were we."

An awkward silence descends on them. Lana is visibly discomforted, now made aware of the exact implications of such a statement. Eight had bent over backwards to follow her sense of right and wrong. Eight had devoted everything to heeding her call. She hadn't even known his reasons for doing so until the very end, blinded by her own eagerness to be saved. Her gloved hands grip the edge of their perch, white-knuckling them beneath the leather.

And she'd been none the wiser until she awoke one day to a slightly panicked holocall from base saying Eight was gone.

He'd fled. Deserted. In the traitor Theron's words, as he put it with uncharacteristic gravity to his features, "was it any surprise that he ran away? you used him-- and now he wants nothing to do with you or the Alliance. It's over."

The betrayal had stung almost as much as the revelation. They'd made up by now, but...

"Lana." Eight's voice pulls her out of her morose reverie, clear and lucid as day. His eyes lock with hers, piercing right into her soul. Lana's breath hitches, and his next words punch the air right out of her chest, like a battered hole in a damaged dreadnaught in the vacuum of space.

"Stop it. I know that look. Stop punishing yourself."

He grips her by the shoulders, shockingly earnest for a spy who concealed all emotion. Lana opens her mouth to speak, but instead of words coming forth- something unfathomable flows into her across the bridge of physical and mental contact, whisking her away on the tides of fate.

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch 1/6)

[Yes I love them and I am drawing them a cover lol]

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale SFW

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Welcome to my first venture into fan fiction!

A gigantic shoutout to @senualothbrok for guiding my newbie writing every step, for being my beta and English coach, and for being so enthusiastic about Gale AND Ta'V in general. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to post the story.

For whoever ventured here, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: Here

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

It still feels wrong to venture outside without the Nyrulna, your faithful trident.

Logically, you understand it’s a horrible weapon choice for the crowded streets of Waterdeep, its thunder damage a guarantee of passerby casualty. You are not expecting battles anyway — Compared to your last two months of tadpoled adventures and the previous ten years of your mercenary life, this is a significant change of pace. The violence rate here is obscenely low.

Ha. Astarion would have giggled at that, followed by a disapproving-but-amused headshake from your gentlemanly wizard. Gale Dekarios, your human, your man. Even counting your pillow, he is still the softest, finest thing you have ever laid hands on in your nomadic life. What a strange twist of fate, that a scheme of the Dead Three has led you to this treasure you'd never encounter otherwise. Perhaps a “thank you” is in order.

A lady always says thank you. Ma’s voice rings in your ears, a distant memory. You snort, not to her but to yourself. She had never lost faith in your ability to be civilized, even when you believed otherwise.

Now, it is Gale who has given you the courage to try out polite society again. The last time you set foot in a city, not including the cultist-infiltrated war-torn Baldur's Gate, was for an escort mission at Elturel. You and a few others were hired to travel with a half-elf noblewoman, her frail yet elegant frame reminiscent of the fawn you hunted a day before. In daylight, you rode next to her, vigilant for any potential danger. At night, you postponed your rest to hunt so that her private chef could prepare her precious meal, while you feasted on cheap rum and dry meat. You had no protest over such an arrangement, being right at home living simply in the wild. It was only when she deliberately changed her wagon into what you could only describe as a "show-off cart" to enter the city, that you felt a pang of distaste. Despite her so-called concern for safety, she wanted a crowd anyway, and a crowd was what she got. Unsurprisingly, when the crew marched past the city gate, the people of Elturel gathered to stare at her in awe and at you in fear. As you walked alongside the heavily decorated four-wheeled cart at a painfully slow pace, you silently thought, "That could be me sitting in there. I am half-human too, you know?"

But that’s where you stop. Focus. You have two missions today, the first being to bring a surprise lunch to your fiancé at Blackstaff Academy. You have roasted a pig leg as best as you could with his magical hob, picked out the freshest berries of the season, and scouted a rich full-red you know Gale will enjoy.

Wait. Is drinking allowed at school? You wouldn’t know, as your education came from your parents and the road. In any case, he can store it in his big, nice teacher’s room he gleefully described in detail when he first got his position a week ago. You had been celebrating at the Yawning Portal that night, and your drunken wizard had lovingly leaned on your arm, so overjoyed that, despite being in public, he cheekily rubbed his beard against you like a spoilt kitten. You just couldn’t resist giving his soft hair a good pat.

“T-This is surreal,” he sighed, with a lazy gaze under half-lidded eyes. “Please, my love, join me someday. I have so many stories to share —it is my second home after all!”.

You liked the place already. If that is where he belongs, then you must go there as well.

In the end, you decide to give up the Nyrulna and pick a simple axe, just for safety measures. It should be a perfect choice: small enough to hide under your cloak and cheap enough not to make a fuss, even if it got confiscated by an academy guard. Tracing its metal notches reminds you of Karlach, a fellow barbarian soldier. You miss that woman.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, adjust your dreadlocks, and take a deep breath. Time to face polite society.

---

"STOP."

You hold up your hands as two steel sentinels halt you at the gate of the renowned Blackstaff Academy. It is a gesture you have practiced many times, wary and expectant. Behind them, the arcane tower looms over you. The voice of the guards sounds too hollow and unified, a single echo shared between the duo. Remotely controlled guards then, you think, impressed.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

“I am here to see Gale Dekarios, Professor of the Illusion School.” You practiced this also, more times than you’d ever admit.

“School of Illusion,” the voice corrects you. Now it sounds like a sentient being, not like that weird projection of Lorroakan’s at Sorcerous Sundries. The masculine voice has a pinched, haughty tone and an air of tired condescension. You are immediately reminded of wizards and their pride in education; how a long time ago, when you had miraculously succeeded in channeling the Weave for the first time and shared your joy with Gale — “I didn’t know channeling the Weave was so easy” — he wasted not a second to remind you that, in fact, it is not. Somehow, that awkward moment has now turned into a soothing memory.

“Hm-Right.” You cough to hide a snort. “I am his wife. I would like to bring him lunch. May I pass the gate?” As an afterthought, you add, “Please?” Your Ma would be proud.

“LIAR. Piss off before I chase you out.”

Of all the responses you expected, this is not one of them. You are growling before you know it. “I suggest you KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.” The words rush harshly out of your fanged mouth.

…uh.

In an instance the two sentinels spring into a battle stance. Worse still, you can feel onlookers start to gather, and your skin itches under their gazes. You force an exhale.

“…What makes you think I am lying?” You try as calmly as you can manage, holding onto the mental image of your smiling wizard, just beyond reach. Volo’s book better gets published sooner so that everyone will know who you are. Better yet, you will make sure he highlights the word ‘wife’.

“Professor Dekarios is not married.” The sentinels, with the smuggest voice you have ever heard in your life, drop their final blow.

And that is when you remember. Yes, you are still technically his fiancée, even though the man himself has often forgotten that, already showering you with affection far deeper than a ring could ever capture.

Perhaps someone more eloquent would continue to argue, ask Gale to come out, and demand proper treatment for a lady. But right now you only feel overwhelmingly exposed, with too many prying eyes and wiggling tongues for you to maintain your civil façade any longer. So you retreat, trying to ignore the unsubtle snickers. The sentinels were not as clever as they thought they were anyway. What kind of guards reveal personal details to a potential enemy like that? Amateur.

---

What would Gale do to remedy the day? He would strategize.

You decide to call upon Tara to deliver the meal, and if the sentinels deny her entry they will know true horror. Her outrage upon hearing your encounter was enough to cheer you up. After all, your goal is to get your love fed, and the means—who is doing the delivery — are less important than the ends.

With that dealt with, you now need to focus on your second mission—to pass a job interview. You have decided that settling down in polite society means less fighting, but there is no way you’d just stay at home and rely on Gale’s income, even though he wouldn’t mind. The man is more than willing to provide for you, but you wouldn’t want to lounge around in the tower, hanging off his coattails. Truth be told, this is for your own good too—you truly wish to be a part of Waterdeep by playing an active role in it, not just as a tag-along of Gale’s.

Of the ten positions you applied for in the past month, you only got one reply: a counter clerk at the Aurora's Realms Shops next to the Market. Gale had frowned when he heard about the demanding dusk-till-dawn working hours, but you assured him you’d only take shifts six days out of a tenday. He had tried to argue further, but upon seeing your determination, swallowed his questions. You both know that if you had applied to be a city guard, a dock laborer, or even a weaponry store assistant, you’d get better offers. But you have decided that you want a change. More sitting, less fighting. To be polite. Chit-chat with people. To smile without malice.

So, on leaving Blackstaff, you arrive at the shopfront five minutes before your interview. You scan the two queues before you: one inside the shop and one outside. A queue for a counter clerk job at this paid rate? You lament, Waterdeep and its gods forsaken job market.

You push open the glass door, and upon seeing you enter, a human woman with a clipboard swiftly calls, “Oh. The interview for security guards is outside.”

“I am here for the counter clerk one.” Several candidates from the queue indoor turn to you curiously. To be fair, all of them are tinier than you; you’d have no problem reaching the top shelf, or lifting one, if you ever needed to.

“Ah. Right.” The lady is polite enough to look embarrassed. “And your name?” She shows you her clipboard as you tower over her, and as you scan through the long list she adds helpfully, “Or you can just tell—” “I know how to read.” You stop her mid-sentence, your harsh tone making her wince, and you wince too. Gods, you need to get better at this. Apologetically, you soften your voice, “This is me,” pointing to your name on the list.

“Ta’V Riversong?” She is surprised. Does she recognize the Hero of Baldur’s Gate? She does not start praising your great deeds, so you assume no, you aren’t that lucky. It must be the other reason then.

 “Yes,” you explain. “Riversong is my Ma—mother’s surname, she’s a human.”

This is one thing you share with Gale: taking your mother’s family name. Your father, however, did not abandon the family like Gale’s father did. Instead, your father understood—theirs was a runaway marriage, and your mother had sacrificed a lot to settle down with a barbarian deep in the woods, away from civil society. Her name was her last connection to her noble past, and your father could never deny her that. Idly, you wonder if this woman has heard of your mother’s family. Growing up, you never cared enough to learn about this illusion of a heritage.

“I see,” she says meekly. “Sorry…It’s just that from your application, I didn’t expect you to be a half-orc.”

---

And that is why you end up shit-faced in a random tavern. You don’t even bother to look at the tavern sign as you stumble in, determined to leave behind the interview, the Academy, and polite society as soon as possible. You order whisky first, then firewine, because you can’t afford to waste money, given that you definitely won’t get the job. You understand. They want someone less intimidating. Of fucking course.

You are almost delighted when you feel hostility flushing towards you.

The hair at the back of your neck stands. At the corner of your eye you spot the flash of a cunning dagger, which you recognize as a Murderous Cut. Ah, local Bhaal cultists then. You may have had a bad day, but at least you can make theirs worse. You down your drink in one go, and without further ado, send the mug right into a cloaked figure’s face.

In an instant the whole tavern breaks into chaos. As the others reveal their weapons, you realize something: You have missed this. The axe you wield breaks through wind and skulls. Frenzied roars explode from the depth of your lungs, your charge unstoppable and inevitable. This is the part of yourself you used to be most proud of, the warrior that you were trained to be, born from ashes and forged in flames.

FIGHT ME! You father shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Two figures charge at you. You ground your stance before taking a full-body swing, slashing open both poor souls at once. With a kick you send one of them towards the side, knocking over a clamour of plates and glasses.

SIDE! He took advantage of your open stance.

A blade cut scratches your cheek, but you promptly ignore its stink of poison. You grab the man and throw him right at a ranger in the corner, knocking both of them out. Perhaps you are enjoying this too much, but when you look at the screaming Waterdhavians, your grin is wide and true. You will not be tamed.

CHARGE!

As you knock down your last enemy you feel free, freedom that you haven’t tasted for months since you arrived in this godsdamned city. You rise, wobbling, and you see your father grinning proudly. On the day you had beaten him down finally, he had pronounced you a worthy adult. You were sixteen, ready to hit the road. You laugh maniacally, in joy and sorrow and everything else you can’t name. You know Gale could name them. Yes. Gale. The smartest, sweetest person you’ve ever known.

And then you collapse.

---

You were inside his purple tent. Late at night, he illuminated it with floating orbs, reclining between your legs as he read his tomes. He was so focused, and you couldn’t help but distract him with a kiss on top of his head as you gently traced circles on his stomach.

He chuckled, low and warm, then leaned back against you.

“This is one mystery I’ll never solve,” he began, closing his tome. “Why oh why would such a wonderful, ferocious, tenacious warrior ever set her sights on someone as brittle as me?”

“I could ask the same in reverse, but I ran out of adjectives,” you muttered sleepily and he laughed, setting his hands on top of yours as his thumb stroked your calloused skin.

You knew he was unsatisfied, so you tried your best, despite the pulling weight on your eyelids, to set his ever-churning mind to rest.

“You smell good,” you managed, and he laughed even louder.

But you needed him to understand. You pushed out one last word.

“Home.”

He went quiet as you fell asleep.

---

You hear…

“Ta—”

Something. Familiar. Wings.

“Ta’V—”

It’s the smell that gets you.

“TA’V!”

“WHAT? I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t fret!” You jerk up, snapping out of your coma. It is Gale who holds your face urgently, his brows tightly knitted, knees rough on the hard ground. Next to him, Tara flutters her wings, startled by your sudden movement.

You are elated to see them, and you want to tell them so. But something in his glistening eyes makes you pause.

“Don’t fret?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You were lying on the ground alone, bleeding, unconscious, surrounded by godsdamned cultists, AND YOU TELL ME TO NOT FRET?”

Dead cultists, you want to counter, but your overflowing relief finally spills over.

“I love you,” you say instead, and Tara twists her tail in amusement.

Gale stares at you for a long time. Finally, with a deep breath, he relents.

“And I you. Let’s go home, shall we?”

---

While you have never been well-versed in sentimental things, you do understand that this situation calls for a hug. So you gather him into a squeezing embrace as soon as the two of you stumble out of the portal. Tara, in the meantime, settles herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for the drama to unfold.

To cheer him up, you decide to start with something happy. “So…did you enjoy the meal Tara brought you?”

You feel him tense, so you hug him harder. A moment later, he nods against your chest.

“It was wonderful,” he mutters. “I savored every bite, sang the chef’s praises to anyone who’d listen.” He pauses. “I learnt from Tara what happened at the gate.”

“Oh, well. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped by without a head’s up.”

He pushes himself away from your chest and stares sternly into your eyes. “That is not the point. I swear, the first thing I’ll do next time I return to the Academy is to teach that young man Endorick a very serious lesson on manners. That was pure disrespect, not only to you but to everything the Blackstaff stands for. In fact, the only reason I was delayed was because of the next bit of shocking news Tara relayed to me.” His gaze turns sorrowful. “My love, would you please tell me what happened?”

You grunt. Talking has never been your strong suit, but it is Gale’s preferred mode of communication, so you push through it. You tell him about the failed interview, the resulting drinking, and the fight. You try to describe your feelings along the way, knowing that it will comfort him to know more about you. At the end of your narrative, he falls silent.

Then he announces abruptly, “Let’s pack.”

“What? Why?”

Gently, he presses his hand against your cheek. His voice is firm and tender when he says, “It was never my intention to cause you such pain, or to mold you into something different than what you are now.” He grimaces. “In fact, I can scarcely believe I truly deserve to have someone as wonderful as you by my side as a friend and a wife. So we can go, far away from here, travel again, meet your parents perhaps! Anywhere that makes you happy, I will follow.”

“But what of your teaching?” You counter, and you are almost appalled when he shrugs. “I have barely started. I’m sure the esteemed, resourceful Blackstaff Academy can manage without—"

“NO!” You stumble, hands gesturing frantically. “This is your dream! Your second home, you said!”

“And you are my first,” he declares without hesitation. “I know my choice.”

Your head hangs. You feel dejected. He doesn’t get it.

There are too many thoughts swirling in your head, words starting to slump and melt and break. You can’t explain yourself, and you can’t keep up with this conversation anymore. Unlike Gale, you must see and touch to manipulate. As you fall silent, you can sense Gale’s increasing concern.

Finally, you proclaim, “I will show you tomorrow.”

---

This is why, when the morning comes, your fiancé will find himself awake before you — a rare occurrence — and reading a great puzzle in the form of a simple note, carefully pried from your fist as you doze. It reads, in handwriting he finds as endearingly boorish as its owner:

“I want to work at Blackstaff Academy too.”

Chapter 2

---

Thank YOU for reading this story. Tell me what you think! It would make my day :)

Other things that I do

[bubbleddisasters]

Been thinking about the Traveler being reminded of Inazumas War during Natlan, and an Open Arms Reprise I saw/Heard that sparked an idea about Teppei and Vichamas deaths, so i’m about to make it everyone else’s problem.

Spoilers, obviously

————-

With every scrape of blood off the sole of her once gleaming white boots, the sound of every solider and innocent lost being counted in the rest area, she was reminded of flashing lightning.

Of Gorou returning from unsuccessful search and rescues. Of Kokomis deep eye bags, Of….him. He who never got to try on his uniform.

A dash of moonlight reflected on Paimons hair, now drained from all the tears she had shed, wrapped in the blondes scarf.

She had really been with her through everything. The one constant Lumine could always count on.

“Captain?”

The once familiar voice had the outlander turning immediately.

“Teppei?”

Smiling in his Watasumi uniform, the apparition waved happily . As if he had never died. The friendship bracelet made from his first broken dummy still tied neatly as he stood by a crackling blaze.

“Thats me! It’s been awhile, huh? You look pretty tired, you can rest here by my fire, if you want.”

As if in a haze, she moved forward, an in a foolish leap of faith, jumped to hug her fallen friend, silent tears staining his uniform as he returned the embrace.

When she pulled back, the reality came in.

“You’re dead.”

“Yup.”

“Then how..?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, the former soldier looked off to the side.

“Night…uh…Kingdom stuff? I won’t be here for long, but I met this guy in the afterlife, and he mentioned you made it here, so I wanted to check on you! He helped me out.”

“He?”

Another figure fizzled into view. One she had seen only days ago. But this form was mutilated, ripped apart. He couldn’t have….not after..

“Vichama….?”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Rifthounds are the worst, aren’t they?”

Prodding the small flame with a stick, the fallen sighed.

“Once this flame goes out, we’ll be gone for good. You can have my stuff if it’s not too destroyed when….if…you get back. I doubt anyone else will want it.”

“The Captain of Swordfish || will definitely make it out! You haven’t seen what she can do! She’s amazing!”

“You’re weirdly positive for someone who died a long and agonizing death, y’know.”

Eyes of gold welled, the onyx haired patting the log next to him.

“You can let it all out while we wait, Captain. The dead tell no tales, right?”

———

And so, Lumine did just that. Told him everything. Sumeru, Fontaine, and what had happened so far in Natlan. Desperately, she didn’t wish for this moment to end. If only she had obtained Pyro from the Statue, she would have made Vichamas Fire burn eternally.

As it began to fade, Teppei rose from his seat, holding out his hand toward her.

“It’s time to keep moving on Captain.”

“…How Teppei?”

Wind was his only response as she took it all in. He was right, and she knew it. As she took his hand, Vichama cut in.

“I….I know you’re probably tired of all this war and bloodshed, but you’ve got the chance to have a life to live. Someone once told me to Keep them in their heart to bring them home.”

“He’s right! And give all the kindness you can, well, if you can.”

Carefully handing Paimon into her arms, the Inazumian smiled weakly.

“Remember how even during the war, our friendship still made us both feel happy and warm? Don’t give up on making friends like me again.”

The Verdette now stood, his ripped canopy outfit getting stuck on a twig for a moment before he was able to respond.

“And I know from..you know..that you probably might feel like we like we blame you for not being able to save us, but we don’t. Atleast I don’t.”

He faded away first, tossing her a dog-tag necklace with a key attached, leaving just Lumine and Teppei, who admired the mountain view, even in the pitch darkness.

“Y’know, life really is amazing. Everyone takes it for granted until they lose it, so…”

Slipping off his identification tag from around his neck, the deceased pressed it into her hand.

“Even after all this, try to greet the world with Open arms, ok? It’s going to be hard, but I think you’re capable of anything, I really do.”

Just like Vichamas, his visage began to fade, ruffling her hair as he disappeared.

“Thanks for everything, Traveler. I couldn’t have asked for a better Captain, or a better friend.”

One final time, he smiled.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

The fire flickered to nothingness as he vanished.

——-

Paimon stirred, yawning as she shifted around in the swaddle Lumine had made with scarf as the outlander began to prepare the hot air balloon.

“Paimon had this dream about Teppei and Vichama, and a huge war in….”

As she floated to oversee the region from above, the cheeriness in her voice all but faded.

“Oh…Guess Paimon wasn’t dreaming about the war then…is…is it really not over?”

“Not yet Paimon. Soon. Open arms.”

“Open arms? Whats that supposed to mean?”

————-

____________

Link to the Open Arms Reprise that gave me this idea!:

Yea thats it.

Enjoy.

[zepskies]

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist

Oh, I'm very excited!

It's my first time participating in a bingo, and @jacklesversebingo felt very much up my alley! 😄

Note: All stories will be released on my Patreon first.

Stories:

(**Notes 18+ only and/or smut)

Basic Instinct** - Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: You and Alec adapt to the realities of a human/transgenic relationship, especially during your pregnancy. 

[Sequel to Being Human]

Prompt: You whisper in his ear, and he breaks into a smile.

Maybe More Than Enough - Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Lost Time** - Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

(Sequel to Every Second Counts)

Prompt: "Are you trying to get us in trouble?"

The Honorable Choice** - Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

Prompt: Western AU

Series Complete

Outlander** - Dean Winchester x OFC

(Sequel to The Honorable Choice)

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

Prompt: Western AU

⬆️ Series in progress!

Lost in Translation** - Soldier Boy x POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you?

Prompt: "Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is No!"

Against the Wind** - Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!F. Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

Prompt: True Mates

Series Complete

Red-Eye - Jason Teague x F. Reader

Summary: Your best friend is getting married. Naturally, you’re running late for your flight back home to good old Smallville, Kansas, and so is the handsome stranger who saves you.

Prompt: Running late for the same flight.

⬆️ COMING IN JANUARY

Over the Bridge - Beau Arlen x Soulmate!Reader

Summary: Your car is teetering on the edge of a rickety bridge. When Sheriff Beau Arlen arrives at the scene to help you, he realizes that for the first time in his life, he can hear his soulmate’s thoughts.

Prompt: “I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe.”

⬆️ COMING SOON!

Between the City and the Stars** - Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time reassimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

Prompt: Historical Epic

⬆️ SERIES COMING IN JANUARY

And more to come...

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Jason Teague Masterlist

Dean, Beau + Soldier Boy Tag List

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[lupineaerosol]

traveler | thomas shelby x f!reader

Not my image!

pairing : thomas shelby x time traveled!reader

word count : 3,831 :P

summary : a trip to scotland for a belated birthday celebration turns into a blast from the past when you find yourself in 1919 with no chance of getting home, until you meet someone on a train to London that tells you he can help your situation and get you a visa....

warnings : angsty at times, near death experience (hypothermia), inspector campbell being creepy for the plot, bad writing, i have no concept of how much money a british pound is so ??, warnings will change with each chapter so please read them carefully!

notes : reader is 23-27 but no specified age, this is kind of an Outlander A.U. where the reader travels through a stone circle (or cairn for this one lolz) and goes back in time

a.n. : this chapter is technically an intro to the rest of the plot that ties in with the canon + vvv descriptive bc thats my writing style :P + also i suck at summaries + just recently got back into writing as a hobby, so this might be absolute trash but I'm very proud. if anyone has any issues with the content or what i write about because it goes against anything online please let me know so i can fix it!!

Not my image!

The black hoodie clings to your skin, sopping wet and forcing a chill through your skin. In the split second it took to regain consciousness, you realize your clothes are soaked, and judging at how badly you're shivering and that you're face-down in the grass, you've been asleep in the rain for god knows how long. Rolling over the damp grass to sit up, you catch a glimpse at the location you find yourself, the cairn outside the small town you had been staying at in Scotland on vacation. 

The sky was dim, sunrise slowly encroaching over the heavy raindrops on the hills. Sitting against one of the boulders of the cairn, a shaky breath leaves your chest, fanning out in front of your face. Through the near hypothermia that's started to quickly make you sweat, a deep uneasiness started to take root, but you were far too panicked to acknowledge it in the moment.

You jumped to your feet, realizing how little time you have alive could be without action, rubbing your hands together for as much friction they could create, dancing your legs in place to wake your body back up. Attempting a warm breath into your hands barely helped your frigid and close-to-death state. The cold was numbing, the fog in your brain was all around you, mentally and physically, keeping the hilltop the cairn sat upon as an island amidst a sea of grey. And suddenly there was a faint light approaching. 

The candlelight within the squeaking lamp softened the mist, making it far more inviting than the haze the man emerged from. Your shivers halted abruptly, the uneasiness bubbled up from your stomach to your throat, a foul taste in the back of your mouth spread over your tongue. 

"'ello!! 'ello is anyone out 'ere?!" The man's shoulders shook with a powerful Scottish accent, and a strong sense of safety accompanied it. Alas, the shivers returned in full force.

"Here!" Your voice broke sharply. "I-I'm over here!" Attempting to speak up through the shakes and ambiance of early dawn proved difficult, your breathing overtaken by the cold and feverish urge to survive. 

And luck was on your side today, for the first time.

"Hello?" The gentleman turned to the sound of your voice, not expecting to find you curled in a ball and soaked to the bone. And in strange clothes that were quite unseemly for a woman of your age. The outer layer that draped over you and the denim that clad your legs were downright outlandish to the man in front of you. 'Damn Americans and their strange styles of dress'  He thought to himself quickly, before stepping lightly over to you, helping you up, and taking his overcoat off to throw across your shoulders.

The warmth was welcomed greatly. You nearly stopped shivering for a moment as the smell of worn and slightly wet leather, cologne and fire overtook you. It was the most definitive thing you could grasp on to in the few minutes, or hours, you had been conscious of.

"Ma'am, what are you doing out here at the time of morn'? You'll catch yourself a death of a cold out in this weather for much longer." The older man took your hand and led you to his carriage and horse. What am I doing out here? The reasoning escaped you through the fog, but you caught a glimpse.

A stone in your hands, turning in your palm as you walk the grounds of a historic castle. Your phone died in your hands mid photo, with the cairn in the fading pixels.

Where are you?

Your slowly warming hand finds its way into the soaked pocket of your hoodie, and alas, no such stone was to be found. Your cell phone and wallet remained, but judging by the man assisting you, there didn't seem to be much hope in asking if he had a charger you could borrow.

He paused to let you lean against the large wooden wheel of his cart, waiting a moment before speaking. A gentler tone took his voice. "Ma'am, do you remember how you got out here?"

The fog had cleared, both in your mind, and as the first bits of sunlight rose from the eastern horizon. After a pregnant pause, you responded.

"I'm vacationing here, from America." That much was true, you were from America and you were here on vacation, the only question was when you were visiting. You had flown over in a modern plane, taken a modern train from London to Edinburgh, and then a taxi to Inverness. The man in front of you made a subtle face of surprise, as if the journey you have described could have taken over 6 months, when in it only took 2 days for you to be a quarter of the way around the globe.

"I'm sorry you've found yerself so far from home, Inverness 's not a place I would expect an American to want to travel." The man moved the lantern from his hand to a metal bar attached to the seat of the carriage. He busied himself with his gloves. "If I'm correct, you're shivering out of yer britches and startin' to sweat at the same time." You nodded quickly, sharp pins and needles erupting from the skin you moved. The man brushed his hand over his chin, considering his options. 

"My daughter Isa will have coffee and a warm hearth awaitin'. Once you've warmed up we can 'elp you return to wherever ye came from." The man sounded less than enthusiastic to have an American in his home, but the desperate need of your medical situation demanded his unwilling help. No one wanted to have any connection to a dead foreigner found at a locally mysterious site known for having a frequency of people going missing when visiting.

He helped you up onto the bouncing wooden seat. The smell of horse and leather of the reigns was the second most tangible thing you could consider basing your reality off of. This was obviously not the 21st century. A young woman, possibly anywhere in the 1830's to the 1940's (judging the man's attire and horse) in a foreign country with no possible way of proving her existence via official documents. That was the reality of the matter. You had no idea when you were, and if there was a possibility of getting back to the modern day.

Focus, and compartmentalize. There will be time to deal with the larger issues later on. Don't freeze to death, and then figure out what time and day it is. Gently and slowly returning to work, your brain made its first decision of this strange crisis: Deal with it later. In the meantime, you were able to do a quick mental diagnostic ; Legs work, fingers bend and grab, your stomach growls and you understand that your guts and heart still work, you've spoken to the man, so obviously your mouth and voice still work just fine. The only outlier was what year you were inhabited by accident.

The gentleman took one last glance at the girl who had barely spoken, and urged his horse forward toward the gentle outline of a stone town a few miles away.

-

The fire overtook the crisp and clammy feeling that crawled over your body. Heat licked at your hair and half exposed arms. You had met the man's daughter, Isa, and she had practically thrown a warm cup of half brewed coffee out of half awake panic. Although your father walking into your kitchen with a strange young woman at barely 5 in the morning would alarm you as well.

Adding to the alarm, Isa was just as perplexed about your strange, "American" clothes. She was convinced no one was strange enough to wear those clothes willingly, and since you were of similar size with Isa, she gave you a few of her old clothes to wear as you warmed in front of the fire. A bulky, tan skirt slightly too tight at the waist and a thin, loose in the bosom white blouse. You sat at the hearth with a large blanket draped over your shoulders, reminiscent of the smell of the man's overcoat. 

Your clothes draped near the fire, steam coming off of your printed socks with cats on them. Isa had commented about the craftsmanship and how expensive they must have been. You barely muttered a response that would have made sense. All that time spent taking notes in World History class, and you remember nothing about Britain and Scotland after the Revolutionary war or before WWII. The grip on your phone was tight and you quietly pondered as to how you were going to keep it hidden while you were here. There was hope to get home. At least for now. 

"So you really can't remember anything?" Isa leaned over to place the back of her hand over your warm forehead. 

"Nothing from before your father found me." You only partially lied, you can't directly remember how you ended up at the cairn.

"But you remember your name, right?" Isa sat back in her chair, reaching for a cup of coffee on the dining table. 

"Oh, right, sorry. My name is (y/n)." Your answer was curt, unrevealing as possible. 

The morning dragged on. The sun was up, the clock on the wall above the sink read 7:46. Time. 

"What day is it?" You asked quietly into your coffee while attempting to cool it off. 

"Wednesday." Isa had been buzzing around the kitchen, completing various tasks but while also keeping an eye on you. Her father had toddled off somewhere else in the house, his footsteps were heard, but not yet seen in daylight. "But if you would like the specifics, it's Wednesday, February 5th, in the year 1919." 

"Thank you, Isa." 

-

Hours later and lots of planning around the limited memory you spoke about having, it was decided that Isa's father would lend you a 20 pound note he had been saving (He was subtly adamant you got his address to mail money back to him) for the trains to London, and Isa gifted you a few of her mother's worn skirts and blouses.

The plan was for you to travel back to London and hopefully return to either your home country or your family, though you knew both of these things were problematic. Isa's father, Robert, had left around 8 to ask around the town about your family, or anyone who may have traveled with you. No one had a clue. You thanked both of them urgently, and with deep appreciation. A small mental note was categorized that you should repay more than just the 20 pounds, kindness as bountiful as had been shown to you was deserved of a larger reward.

A short walk with many stumbles to the train station back to Edinburgh. The heels of your company's shoes clicked against the raised wooden deck parallel to the stone station. 

"Thank you both, for your generosity." You gripped at the skirt that fell to the tips of your toes barely covered your Chuck Taylor Converse. Isa smiled gently, holding a worn and broken leather carrying case out to you to take.

"I can't do enough to pay you all back." You made a note to include Isa's mother in the thanks, as she was also indirectly gifting you items.

"Goin' home safe," a large pause entered the conversation following Robert's comment. Isa had earlier explained that her father has a strange and unusual issue with Americans. Especially visiting somewhere like Inverness. "-Is all we can pray for." His voice was genuine, but with a hint of resentment. Not towards you, but aimed at something far larger than you. Robert was odd. Everything is odd. If you were only slightly more deranged, you would be acting just as cold and bitter as he was. 

The train whistle was enough to make you jump out of your skin slightly, and the final call for boarding passengers was announced by the conductor.

"Again, thank you both. Your kindness is appreciated more than you can imagine." Taking the bag from Isa's hands, the heft slightly surprised you, but recovered as you walked up the steps to the train. Part of you wanted to stay, see what life you could carve here while trying to get home through the cairn. The other part of you understood that there isn't a choice in going home. 

A large smile was across Isa's face when you found her among the scattered people on the raised deck, her father seemed to have already walked away and started on the walk home. A smile and wave and the train chugged into motion, steam flying behind the glass. You catch your reflection briefly. (y/e/c) eyes and an ill greenish grey colour clung to your skin, the grey skies unrelenting in their goal to forbid sunlight from reaching Scotland’s soil. It was pitiful to see yourself like this, a homesick and anxious ache bloomed in your gut. Settling into the steady chugging, the warmth of the shirt on your shoulders, and the steadiness of your seat beneath you was reality enough to coax you into a well deserved sleep. 

-

A clamorous crash awoke you from the short nap your body allowed, the train had stopped, and with it came your carrying case from the weak storage compartment situated above your head. Calming your racing heart, you leaned over to stand and pick the dry leather handle from the floor and returned the hefty item to its previous place. A huff of breath while you fall into your seat, and your pulse finally calms down. You looked out the glass at the yellow train station sign reading the carefully painted words ‘Welcome to Manchester’ slowly. 

People filed onto and off of the individual train cars, and soon enough your train car was mostly filled, all except the private aisle you suddenly shared with an older man in a bowler hat and bulky, black overcoat. Scanning him as he took the opposing corner seat in the small room.  Everything about this man was understated, his tie held no colour, nor did his vest or suitcoat. The only colour to bespeckle this man was the icy blue of his eyes, weathered by age, and his salt and pepper hair and mustache.

He carried and opened a file of paperwork close to his chest, but sitting across from him it was easy to see that he had no intention of keeping the title private; ‘TOP SECRET, SPECIAL BRANCH, BSA MUNITIONS ROBBERY : PRIME’- Suspects, finishing the sentence you couldn’t read fully. With the amount of heist movies you watched before you were thrown back in time gave you a good inference that this man was police, or whatever British version of the FBI that happened to exist in 1919.

You were shocked the man didn’t seem to acknowledge your existence in the train car, until he swiftly checked to see where your eyes had been trailing and caught you staring directly at the opened folder.

“Has your family yet taught you that staring is quite rude?” A gruff and grumbled voice projected from beneath his bushy mustache. You removed your eyes quickly from the grey-green envelope. He carried the corners back towards each other, closing the file to place it on his lap.

“They did, I apologize.” You moved to turn your body away from him, crossing your left leg over your right to lean against the window, eyes dragging sleepily over the quickly passing trees. You hadn’t even been aware the train had started moving again. Your accent seemed to surprise the man.

“American?” He queried. You nodded, turning your head back to look in his direction. “If I may be so bold and ask, are you traveling to London?”

“Yes, actually. I hope to travel home once I arrive there.” You pondered quickly over the depth of information you wanted to share with the man. “I lost my passport while visiting Inverness, I need to speak to the police in London to figure out how I can get home without it.” 

The man’s mustache lifted gently with a slight smile. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing we met today, my name is Chester Campbell, I’m an Inspector with the Scotland yard. I can get you a travel visa in Birmingham tomorrow, and then the day after you can be on a boat in London sailing back to the states.” He enthusiastically put his hand to his knee, outwardly excited for the upcoming few days. Your warning alarms were blaring in your head, but you doubted this man would let you stray away from the plan he just created.

“May I see your identification?” You hoped he would be too excited to hear in your voice how deeply you distrusted him. “It’s awfully dangerous for a young woman like myself to be traveling with a stranger who can’t prove his identity.” A shy smile lit your face gently, hoping to ease your own tension. He gave off waves of steeled and attuned senses to something. What it was you couldn’t pinpoint, but you could barely manage to stay in the same car with the way your skin suddenly crawled.

“Of course m’lady,” He handed you his badge after drawing it from within his breast pocket on his overcoat. All his information seemed appropriate for a man of his age and stature, and your hackles smoothed down with the small comfort that he was in fact a police officer. “Anything for the comfort of the fairer sex.” 

Ew. Forget your skin crawling, you felt violently ill. But he could get you to America sooner. Although, what the hell would be good about being a woman traveling by herself to her nonexistent home in the states? Where would you even go once you got to New York? Dangers lurk around every turn, this Inspector Campbell was proof of this. I can’t give this opportunity away, as much as I dislike him. I might not get another chance to fall into my lap like this. “Thank you, Inspector.” A response finally fell through your teeth as you handed his badge back to him, and he tucked it back into its place within his coat. A tense conversation of small talk filled the remainder of the ride to Birmingham, your trust in him was nonexistent, and the hour and 30 minute ride didn’t improve it.

-

Stretching your legs from the excruciatingly long train ride was a welcomed feeling, stepping off the train and onto the Birmingham station platform. The sun was setting and you needed a drink. The trunk in your hand bumped your leg as you walked with it, eager to get away from that god forsaken room the Inspector filled with conversation through the entire ride. Swiftly asking those scattered around the buildings surrounding the station, The Garrison seemed to be the only pub within walking distance and price range, and so you started your venture to find food and drink. Your legs carried you away from the station as fast as possible before the Inspector had the chance to corner and engage you in yet another drawn-out commentary on the weather. 

The Inspector had also offered to take you out for dinner, but you refused politely as you were collecting your things on the train to leave swiftly. If an hour of his time was grating years off of your life like it seemed to have done, you can’t imagine dinner with him. It might kill you on the spot. 

The intricate details on the glass of the front façade gave The Garrison an odd aura that felt so very welcoming and warm, and yet the building itself had a feeling of owning wary and watchful eyes. Pushing through the doors, the rubber of your shoes squealed loudly against the marble flooring, catching the eyes of many of the other patrons through the frosted glass. You paused against the second set of doors to steady yourself and grip the handle of your carrying case before walking directly to the golden bar top and shimmying up onto a stool.

It wasn’t a great bar, in fact it was barely more than four walls, a few windows, and a mountain of liquor. The lighting was dim, keeping the more unseemly stains from the eyes of the customers. The woodworking of the booths behind you was gorgeous, beautiful craftsmanship that was beer spackled and possibly pissed on. The woodwork behind the bar seemed less abused, instead worn and well loved, and before you could admire it any further, the tall bartender asked you for your order.

“What food do you have here?” You asked swiftly, running on fumes and short tempered from the train ride. You, very less than subtly, reached down your shirt to where you had stashed the 20 pounds in your bra. Luckily The Garrison paid no attention, and you were able to order the largest meal the man in front of you could provide: a few slices of sourdough bread, cheese and a small chicken breast with potatoes. Pairing it with a large stein of beer, you were barely awake by last call, nearly asleep on the bar after everyone else had cleared out, except for the strange group of men that had been in and out of the corner room over the course of the night. 

“Ma’am, I hate to do this to you, but you can’t sleep at the bar tonight.” The bartender leaned against the golden surface with a rag over his shoulder. God knows what time it was, and there was no possible way of getting you to care. 

“Is there anywhere nearby for less than,” You did a quick tally in your mind to count the remaining coins in your pocket. “10 pounds a night?” Lifting your head from the counter to gaze up at the barman.

He sighed above you. “Look, don’t let anyone know about it, and I’ll let you sleep at one of the booths for tonight. You seem like a good enough woman, but tomorrow morning you are done loitering here and you’ll move along.” He bargained, and your heart leapt in your chest at the grace of the cards that have been falling into place around you. 

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll help you open tomorrow morning if that would help at all, I really do mean to earn my keep for tonight.” You suggested, overexcited at the fact you had a place to stay the night. He seemed to chew on the idea in his mind for a moment.

“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.” He nodded. “The name’s Harry Fenton, I own the Garrison.”

“I’m (y/n),” You smiled slightly. “And I think I will be going to bed now.”

notes pt2. : woooaaah holy crap that was a lot im so sorry for such a long intro chapter but trust itll make sense next chapter :P i legit worked on this chapter for a week and I will try my best to learn how to make a freakin masterlist now that im finally back into writing stuffs :> idk when pt 2 will be out but i can start a tag list if anyone wants to be added