#cw: major character death referenced

[not-krys]

[Repost] Old - Abby & Theo

Part of this set of WIP Wednesdays!

A bittersweet one today. I had originally wanted to use this theme way back when I was first writing Abby and Theo's Fictober 2021 fic 'I've Waited For This', which would have featured Abby and Vincent as a lot older but chickened out and wrote something a little more lighthearted instead.

This time, feeling braver, I did explore the a lot older theme with Abby and Theo in this one, but with a sad tinge running throughout.

Raw, unedited writing down below. Heavily referenced major character death.

-----

Theo sat by Abby's side, her small hands covered in wrinkles and a little stiff, holding a long paintbrush. Theo, still as youthful as when she had met him, untouched by two hundred years, brown hair and blue eyes unchanged by time, watched patiently as her hand moved, graceful in memory but a little clumsy now with age.

"Just a little more," Abby said, her voice cracking.

"Take your time," Theo said gently, far more kind than he had sounded in her youth.

Silence overtook the two of them, sunlight peeking through the nearby window. Where she needed it, Theo held up her elbow, keeping her arm steady.

"…Talk about him, Theo." Abby asked, squinting her eyes. "Please…"

"Hondje… Are you sure?"

"A happy memory… for me, please?"

Theo closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh.

"Back when we used to live in le Comte's mansion, he often painted outdoors. He loved being in the sun. He… sometimes I thought he was the sun."

"When you came around…" Theo continued, "Well, he was happier. More than I had ever seen him. He shined brighter than before. Blindingly so some days. I was a little jealous… Very jealous, actually. How this scared little pup that came out of nowhere had managed to capture my broer so completely so quickly… Maybe it's not what you want to hear, but any truly happy memory I have of him, you're in it too."

Theo touched her elbow again.

"Remember when I came to the house the first time? Because your auntie had sent those pictures of his paintings?"

"Yes," Abby said, "I showed you all those pictures of Vincent and me… of the children… of his life ever since we left."

"You showed me that he had lived a good life and that's something I can't thank you enough for. I had failed in that regard, even in our second lives."

"Your wish allowed us to meet, Theo, so… don't sell yourself so short. My happiness… was thanks to you, after all."

"Hondje…"

"A-anyway… you were talking about how he loved painting outdoors?"

"Yeah, he'd taken you with him. By all accounts, it should have been sunny all day. But, there was a pop up shower."

"Ah, yes. He wanted to teach me about nature painting. But then it started raining suddenly."

"It was a little late in the day, so I was just getting back from selling some of his work. I got caught up in it too. Soaked to the bone."

"So were we. We had to pack up in a hurry, the paint hadn't even dried properly, both of canvases getting smeared together with the rain water. I was so upset because I was so proud of it and thought I had ruined it."

"Broer just smiled, I remember." Theo said, "and told me that they were twin paintings now. Sebas even came by to tell us about how in the future, there was this movement in art where you don't really paint forms like normal. Sometimes, people would splash paint onto canvases without rhyme or reason. Abstract painting, he called it. I wouldn't have believed him if I hadn't lived through it myself."

Abby smiled a little.

"Vincent held onto those paintings for a while. I was a little embarrassed on how long he held onto them, messed up as they were."

"From what I remember, Comte had them put up in the parlor after you two left."

"That's even more embarrassing!"

"Even had them framed."

Abby lowered her elbow, setting her brush down.

"Thank you, Theo. For cheering me up. For staying and putting up with me."

"You'd be lonely if I didn't, and Broer hated leaving you alone for long."

"…I miss him. So much."

Theo reached up to her cheek, wiping away the falling tear with his thumb.

"Just remember that you had a hand in making his life as good as it could have been. Now I'm making sure yours is just as good in his honor. So, no more tears. You have a portrait to finish, after all."

Abby took a breath and nodded, looking at Theo, determined.

"R-right."

They both turned back to the canvas, the image reflected in their eyes of a younger Vincent, smiling as both of them had remembered.

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober Day 8 Outnumbered Rating Mature CW's/Tag's Implied/referenced character death, Rudy escaping during the Shadow betrayal Characters Rodolfo Parra Summary

It was unsettling, reminded him far too much of the cartel doctrines that lured in young men and women every day.

Ask anyone, and they'll always tell you the same thing. If push comes to shove, their always prepared for the worst. 

And for many, that may be true. 

It certainly is for Rodolfo. 

Growing up in Las Almas, knowing what he knows, and doing what he does, has made him a paranoid man by nature. 

The S.A.S operatives had come highly recommended by an old friend of Alejandro's, so extending trust to them had been… tough, but not impossible. At least with Soap, he could see the man's eyes, could see the truth in them. 

With Ghost he didn't have that same security, but Laswell swore by them, and Alejandro swore by Laswell. 

So Rudy gave them the benefit of the doubt. 

Shadow Company, however, did not get the same kindness. They were not friends of Laswell's, they were simply Americans who hadn't liked the way things were run back home, and had decided to rebel and make their own special little unit. 

It was unsettling, reminded him far too much of the cartel doctrines that lured in young men and women every day. 

So he let Alejandro make nice, let him befriend and smile and laugh with Graves and his pack of strays while he watched. He knew this was Ale's way of feeling them out, knew to trust him. 

You didn't become a Coronel for being stupid, after all. 

But in the end, he thinks they both fell for Graves' slippery smile and sugar-coated words. Because even he hadn't expected this. He knew they were hiding something, but was content to let them wrangle their terrorist and leave Las Almas to deal with its own neverending problem. 

He doesn't expect to have their very base ripped out from underneath them the moment Graves has them separated .

But here he is, wrenching a blade free from the Shadow that had tried to put one between his ribs. His movements are sluggish as he rights himself, trembling as adrenaline fights the drugs they must have spiked their food with. 

He doesn't have long, he'll be lucky if he escapes. 

The first bullet rings out, the rifles report cracking in the crisp evening air as shadows pour out of the main compound, launching themselves into the few Vaqueros that had yet to make it to the mess. 

He hears screams and shouts in American for his men to surrender, to drop their weapons, and kneel. 

He digs into the dead Shadows Tac vest as his men answer by opening fire. 

His head bows in a silent prayer of his mother tongue for their sacrifice. 

Three pockets in and he finds two stimulant shots, and without any preamble, jabs one into his denim-clad thigh, clenches his teeth against the burn. His heart rate skyrockets, and for a moment he hazes out, lurching unsteadily before everything comes back in sharp, aggressive focus.

He has to escape, has to get word to anyone. 

He's not stupid enough to think that he can do this on his own. 

He ignores the wet heat of tears on his skin as the gunfire below fades off, as American voices shout orders. 

The radio next to him lights up, someone demanding a sitrep. And Rodolfo runs.

[oftenwantedafton]

Often Wanted Afton 

Five Nights at Freddy’s

Fan Fiction Masterlist Part 1 (Part 2 here)

Welcome to my ever growing collection of FNAF William Afton and Reader themed stories featuring dark romance, older man/younger woman dynamics, angst, and, of course, smut. The majority are intended for 18+ viewers. All characters are 18+. Please see ratings and warnings. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Completed Works

Wanted - Teen

William Afton/Steve Raglan x GN Security Guard Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

Marked - Explicit

CW - sexual content/minor blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Female College Student Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2+3 | 4

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Trapped - Explicit

CW - non con/blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Female Detective Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Craving - Mature

CW - blood and gore/ mild mature sexual content

Vampire William Afton/Springtrap x Urban Explorer Female Reader (FNAF novel/graphic novel verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Secret Santa - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Secretary Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

New Year’s Eve - Explicit

CW - prostitution/daddy kink/sexual roleplay

Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Sex Worker Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

An Open Book - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Author Steve Raglan/William Afton x Bookseller Mike Schmidt AU (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

Pas de Deux - Explicit

CW - sexual content/mentioned pregnancy/referenced character death

William Afton x Female Ballerina Reader (FNAF game verse prequel)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Ongoing Works

Night Shift - Explicit

CW - non con/dub con/sexual content/bisexual characters/blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Mike Schmidt x Mike’s GF Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Vent - Explicit

CW - childhood trauma/mental health issues/sexual content/blood and violence/blood kink

William Afton/Steve Raglan/Springtrap x Female Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapters 1-3 | 4-6 | 7-10 | 11-13 | 14-17 | 18-20 | 21-23 | 24

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

[steddiemicrofic]

Steddie Microfic July 8th-14th Masterlist

The first one of many by @fuctacles | Rated G | no cw | tags: ren-faire, pre-relationship, transfem stevie, smitten eddie

adding one more by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

thoughts on an unjust detention by @loveinhawkins | Rated G | cw: implied/referenced homophobia | tags: missing scene, post season 2, pre season 3

untitled by @estrellami-1 | Rated T | no cw

A one-time thing by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | cw: alcohol and drug abuse | tags: car sex, rough sex, fuck buddies, pre-season 4

One Last Breath by @stranger-stardustt | Rated T | cw: main character death | tags: angst, unhappy ending

Day One (Of The Rest Of Your Life) by @yesdangerpls | Rated G | cw: prison | tags: established relationship, future fic, Eddie went to prison after Vecna

last one by @worldswcollide | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

Illusory Courage by @tinytalkingtina | Rated T | cw: dead chrissy cunningham, brief description of vecna'd body | tags: fantasy dnd au, tiefling steve harrington, anti-tiefling racism, steve harrington has bad parents, half-eld eddie munson, pre-steddie, past chrissy cunningham/eddie munson, first meetings

Time Marches On by @marvel-ous-m | Rated T | cw: major character death | tags: established steddie

Take a Chance, Roll the Dice by @adverbally | Rated T | no cw | tags: established relationship, Dungeons & Dragons

gatekeeping. by @thefreakandthehair | Rated G | no cw | tags: established/married steddie, future fic, successful corroded coffin, rockstar eddie, charmingly bitchy steve

mommy's girl by @katyawriteswhump | Rated M | no cw | tags: trans-fem stevie harrington, no upside down au, angst and feels, platonic stobin, steve has an awesome mom and not-so-awesome dad

[misanthropologymajor]

abstract (psychopomp)

spartan warrior ghost x plus size keres (f) reader

keres: female personified spirits of violent death, depicted as dark-winged women, swooping down upon the battlefield to claim the souls of the fallen

cw: abstract depictions of violence, casualties of war, major character death, descriptions of the afterlife, soulmates, referenced patricide, referenced attempted filicide and uxoricide

wc: 1.5 k

ghost felt a presence whenever he saw the light flicker from another man's eye. from behind him, the sun was always blotted by unseen wings. once the men in front of him breathe their last, the feeling departs.

only price seemed half as aware of the presences that filled each battlefield, feeling it swoop down to claim the souls of the fallen. but price didn't feel the presence outside of combat, not like ghost did.

some nights ghost could almost feel gentle claws caress his cheek, broad wings blocking the moon from his eyes. as he looked at his reflection in the pond, framed by yellow and white flowers, he could catch miniscule glimpses of a winged silhouette behind him. if he were a different man, he would almost say that it was with him more than it wasn't. he supposed it made sense that a dark force would follow him, a man who had skirted death more times than he could count.

he took more comfort than any warrior should from the presence of the darkness that took other men.

following each battle, her form became clearer and clearer. he would wake to see massive, raven-like wings fluttering past his window. sometimes, in his reflection, the previous winged silhouette was briefly replaced by the full, fleshy frame of a woman. her draped grey dress was covered in light armor, molded to the plush of her body. rare, strange nights had him feel the soft, clawed hands working the tension from his strained muscles.

ghost had gone days without feeling the presence. it should not have bothered him, especially not as he guarded boarding for the warship bound from ionia to knidos. once boarding was complete, the small number of hoplites, of typically land-bound soldiers, took up guard positions around the oarsmen.

most of the trip back to sparta was uneventful. her presence was very rarely felt, and unable to be seen without reflective surfaces. maybe he should have been more alarmed that morning, when he woke up to see her shrouded, translucent form before him. gentle claws moved the hair from his eyes before she fizzled away before him.

something heavy hung in the air as ghost settled into his guard position. the oarsmen near him, chatty young men, had long gotten over their fear of his imposing figure. this morning, even gaz and soap felt the burden in the air. the oarsmen were the first to notice the incoming cause of dread: achaemenian ships in the distance, at least as many as were in this fleet.

in the hours it took to meet the other fleet, ghost thought of several things: the general was a prideful fool, he had never seen the presence as clearly as he had that morning, and her presence often meant that death was in the air.

by the time the other ships were captured, ghost had accepted that he would not live to see the sunset. he wondered not how he would die, but if she would take his hand and lead him to the meadows of asphodel or the deep abyss of tartarus, if she would take him to be judged, if she would judge him.

the fool in command sealed the fates of every man on board the remaining ships when he declared that a retreat was not the spartan way. the achaemenians vastly outnumbered the thinned remains of the fleet, and naval warfare did not allow for the efficiency of defense that ghost was used to.

his final moments were not what he had expected. ghost always expected to die at the end of another man's blade. he never expected to be speared on a piece of shrapnel, never expected to plunge into the deep cold water in his last moments. after the slap of surface tension, ghost only felt the burn of salty water in his lungs before the world faded from him.

simon was pulled, weightless, from his body. he felt none of the pain that came with years of intense training, felt none of the burn that filled his last memory. all he felt was the gentle, clawed squeeze of a hand around his shoulder.

the world breezed past him as he was flown far from the sea that had stolen his last breath. the movement only slowed as they approached the shores of a vast, grey river, with a single boat.

once he was on the shore, the presence released her grip on him. he glanced at the choppy waters of the river before him.

"my warrior, do you know where you are? do you know why i'm here."

with a nod, simon answered. "you take the dead from battle, yea? that general got us all killed for 'is damn ego."

the presence clasped her hand on his chin and pulled his gaze to her face, opaque and soft. he felt his own hand reach to cup her cheek. "my ghost, i'm sorry i couldn't keep you safe."

"'s not your fault, why would you be sorry?"

her eyes welled with tears, feathery wings fluffing up. "the moirai deprived you of a chance to live a full life because i was selfish and impatient. it's all my fault.

"you and i, my warrior, were built of one soul. four arms and four legs, like the humans, pulled apart by zeus. the moirai put you in harms way because i spent too much time with you." she sobbed. " atropos and lachesis took you from your life because i failed in my duty."

"why d'you think that's your fault? i'm a spartan, i was never gonna live that long." his free hand cupped her empty cheek. "half the time i only fought to catch a glimpse of you, love" he laid a soft kiss on the corner of her lip before pulling himself back.

as he pulled back, he saw a tear roll down the plump of her cheek. "you deserve better than a bitter old crow who ferries the souls of warriors to hades. you deserve better than the fate my sisters wove for you," second and third tears rolled to meet the first before being brushed away by his calloused hand.

"every minute of my life was waiting for you, love. i'd never regret my fate." he pulled her close and pressed her soft form to his hard chest.

when he pulled away, he saw hesitance on her face. "my warrior, you still must be judged. there's nothing i can do if the lords of judgement order you to drink from the lethe and walk the fields of asphodel for eternity. they take no influence from my mother or sisters, just dispense whatever they deem fair. i can't even wait with you."

he pulled away to clasp her hands within his and her wings involuntarily flitted. "i would face an eternity of damnation for the glimpses i got of you while i was alive, 's all worth it. take me to this judgement."

a deep frown creased the flawless face of his presence, his soulmate. she adjusted her hand in his to firm her grip before she began the walk to a crowded dock. at the edge, having slipped through the throngs of shades, she clenched her jaw and extended her wings. after triple-checking her grip on simon, she took off toward the distant light of hades.

the flight was once again breathtaking, the speed beyond anything simon could have dreamed of in life. within what felt like moments, they were at the columnar entrance of a great hall, devoid of color and life.

"lords of crete, lord of aegina, i present, for your judgement, the ghost of sparta." turning on her heels, she flew quickly from the hall of judgement. an onyx feather landed at simon's feet

the three judges sat at separate podiums, each pallid and devoid of the flushed complexion of flowing blood. unseen servants ushered simon onto the complex mosaic at the focal point of the podiums.

"so this is the spartan who sent so many to us, a prolific killer. have you any defense?" the left-most figure jeered down to simon.

"i only did my duty as a spartan, as a warrior."

"most of the time, yes, but let us not forget the crime of patricide," the right-most figure, red-tinted and angry looking, sneered down.

the middle figure responded, "minos, brother, patricide is permissible in prevention of filicide and uxoricide. you mustn't let your own death get the best of you again."

simon stood in silence as the dim figures argued back and forth, waiting with bated breath to hear his fate. following several minutes of debate, he felt three pairs of eyes weigh heavily on his form.

"your service to your people and honorable death have granted you a home in the elysian isles, despite your less than stellar history of crimes against your father."

simon felt compelled to bow before being pulled by unseen winds out of the hall. the winds guided him to a large, extravagant home, suited perfectly to his tastes.

on the kline couch, sat his angel of death, waiting to pull him into her arms.

[blaisenova]

what's up gamers, sorry for disappearing for a while there. life's been kicking my ass lately LMAO

to all the people who've sent in requests, i'm working on them!! as for why they're taking so long, see above.

been writing some stuff on and off for a bit, and i'm sure my fellow writers know how it is. when inspiration for something hits, you just kinda shit it out and then move on. i try to put a little more effort into my requests LOL. but i love killer and i also love hurting him, so this is what came out of that. yippee!!

this one goes out to all the people with complicated romantic lives!!!!!!! i see you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so, take this piece of shit to tide you over. thank you guys for your patience <3

content is below the cut due to length and sensitive subjects. as always, it can be found on ao3 in the reblogs if that's your cup of tea.

cw/tw: major character death (offscreen, but a main point), implied/referenced toxic relationship, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, an all around shitty situationship

Grains of dust fell between his fingers and into his joints, making them crackle when he gripped the faded red scarf in his hands. It was so like when his brother had died, and there was something poetic about that thought, and that poetry was the highest insult the multiverse could have asked him to endure. Nevertheless, there was a distinct lack of snow, and, though his surroundings were deeply familiar – the cool toned darkness of the castle’s atmosphere, broken only by the warm, orange glow of the castle’s mounted lanterns – they would never be as familiar as limbo.

Dust piled beneath his knees, scraping against the bone and leaving it raw, but all Killer could do was press his forehead into the pile before him and hold his breath to prevent it from dispelling; to be as close as possible without disturbing the remains.

When a voice rang out from the shadows, he didn’t startle; its presence had been imminent from the start. It held the same chilled, deep tones of the castle, broken only by the warm dredges of poorly concealed laughter behind its words. Despite himself, Killer found that the tension in his bones melted away at the sound.

“So, you finally killed him.”

It wasn’t a question. There was no surprise.

Voice hoarse, Killer laughed, and the dust darted away from his breath and stuck to the liquid determination that marred his cheeks. “He was hurting me.”

Beside him, someone knelt. Fingers, dark with viscous negativity, ran through the particles and pressed it together testingly. The other hummed, then shook the dust from his hands, as if it were something dirty. Killer shouldn’t have felt so offended at the thought.

“Well, obviously,” Nightmare responded, voice flat with disinterest. “It’s about time that you did something about it.”

Clutching the scarf to his chest, Killer’s soul wobbled unsteadily, and he wheezed. “Do you think– Will– He’ll… He’ll be better when he comes back, right?”

At that, came Nightmare’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and a hand came to rest against his back. Fingers danced what might have been soothing circles over the fabric of his jacket, coaxing out small noises of misery that Killer hadn’t realised he was holding back. “He’s not like you, Killer,” Nightmare hummed. “He won’t come back.”

At that, came Killer’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and he curled further into the dust as it continued to try and run away. “Oh,” he breathed. Then, again, “oh. That’s– That’s not what I wanted.”

There was a beat of silence, and Killer breathed in the judgement in the lack of words. “Then,” Nightmare finally drawled, steady in a way Killer could not be, “what did you want?”

A sound was pulled from his chest at the question, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I just wanted it to stop hurting,” he hissed. “I… I didn’t want to lose him forever.”

With another hum, Nightmare’s fingers pressed more firmly into Killer’s back, drawing him out of wheezing breaths he hadn’t realised he’d been taking. “Why not, if he was hurting you?”

“Because I loved him,” Killer spat; immediately; bitterly. Then, through a lump in his throat, “love. Because I love him.”

For a moment, Nightmare’s steady ministrations faltered, as if the admission surprised him, though Killer was certain he must have known; must have felt it even through every other emotion that had led them here. Just as soon as he began to miss the touch, though, they started up again, and, once more, he choked on a sob as his soul spasmed against his chest. Each breath was suffocating and filled with dust, coating his bones from the inside out and sticking to him in a way that made him feel sick.

“I didn’t want this,” Killer repeated, like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

It ran deeper than a slash across the chest and bones crumbling between his fingers, blood painting his sweater bright red. It must have. It must have been more than the final blow.

“I– I fucked up somehow,” he wheezed. “If I just knew how, I… I could have done better. Should have done better. Then, maybe…”

“There’s no point in trying to fix it now,” Nightmare chided, with a subtle gentleness that Killer might not have recognised if not for the tenderness of the hand that pressed between his shoulder blades reassuringly. “You’re agonising over your relationship with a corpse. It cannot hear your apologies.” A beat. “Although, perhaps, it wouldn’t matter even if it could.”

Sockets squeezing shut, Killer bit back a wail. His knuckles ached from the force with which he clung to the scarf, and the soreness extended to his chest, right where his soul sat. “I hurt him,” he said. “He’s gone.” 

All at once, he sat up, and Nightmare’s hand darted away in surprise, cyan socket wide. Dust speckled the dark streaks across Killer’s cheeks and clung to the bone where he’d feverishly pressed his skull against the pile, as if it might feel his touch and spring back to life. Dull, pale eyelights trembled in his sockets, and the expression of pity before him was blurry and unclear, though, something about that was a mercy. 

At the thought, Killer scrubbed at his sockets furiously, trying to deny himself the grace he didn’t deserve. The moment his vision cleared, however, it was blurred again by tears. Idly, he found himself thankful for the threadbare cloth in his hands, without which his fingers would have found their way to his soul and tried to pry the feelings out themselves; another mercy he refused to indulge.

“He’s gone,” Killer repeated. “I was in love with him. And, now, he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I hurt him.”

Through fuzzy vision, Killer watched Nightmare bare his teeth; it could have been a snarl, or maybe a grimace. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t want to live,” he wailed, unable to stop himself. He blinked, and tar-like tears smeared down his cheeks. They dropped down to his chin, then fell into his lap, and a choked sound of anguish left him as he realised the scarf was stained with them. The damage was done, though, and he sobbed louder as he pressed the cloth to his face. His words were muffled through the barrier, “I loved him. I loved him. Why did I hurt him? Why did he hurt me?”

“The multiverse is cruel,” Nightmare said, “and we are but inhabitants of it, carefully crafted to perpetuate its cruelty. You asked too much when you sought out happiness.”

“Then,” he breathed, pulling himself together long enough to speak, “what was I supposed to do?”

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love,” came the answer, simply. “Certainly, not you. Certainly, not with someone like him.”

His breath faltered once more, and something giddy made his soul tremble. A soft rattling emanated throughout his bones, nausea making some deep, magic based part of him broil and burn. He made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held the scarf over his eyes as if going blind to the situation would make it disappear. “Maybe I deserve everything he ever did.”

With a huff that might have been laughter, Nightmare hummed, “Maybe you do.” He gestured to the messy pile of dust – the thin fabric of the scarf easily showing the shifting shadows – and Killer shuddered at the reminder. “And, maybe he did, too.”

At the notion, Killer’s shoulders sagged, and, tiredly, he shook his head. “Not him,” he whispered, reverent. “Never him.”

Again, came that laugh, and there was something frustrated in its bitter tones. “Oh, what a pedestal you’ve placed him on,” he drawled.

“Why don’t you care?” Killer spat, and anger sparked alongside despair like a match to gasoline. All of the exhaustion from before was driven away, and fevered fury took its place. His soul spasmed painfully as he finally yanked the scarf back down to face reality head on, staring Nightmare in the eye with a strange sort of determination to condemn himself. “He was yours, just as I am. Why don’t you care that he’s gone? Why don’t you care what I did to him?”

Refusing the vitriol that he’d been met with, Nightmare’s tone remained carefully even. “And, forget what he did to you?” His head tilted to the side curiously, and he regarded Killer’s crime with indifference. “You’re hardly being fair. It’s not as if you haven’t killed others for much less. It’s not as if he’s not just as replaceable as you.”

Tiredness returned, like a weight in his bones or a fist around his soul, making him wilt. Unconsciously, he leaned towards his king, and Nightmare mercifully closed the distance between them, allowing Killer’s skull to rest against his shoulder. Shame burned alongside misery as he found miniscule comfort in the familiar worthlessness. “No. He was different. He tried,” he mumbled. Then, insistently, “He tried, and he loved me. Who else has ever done that? For me? I don’t deserve it.”

“And, yet, it wasn’t enough,” Nightmare replied, and Killer couldn’t help but cringe at the callousness.

“Well, it should have been,” he persisted. “It should have been enough for me.”

“And, yet,” he repeated, “it wasn’t.”

Scoffing, Killer shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hoped that he looked as small as he felt. “Gee, thanks, Nightmare,” he murmured. “Like I wasn’t already feeling like a piece of shit.” Then, with another scoff and marked bitterness, “I mean– Shit, it’s not even like I was asking for very much, right? Or– Or, I was, I guess, but it shouldn’t be so hard… right? How many people are there in the multiverse that have perfectly healthy relationships? Where they feel like people? Why not me?”

He ran a hand over his skull with an exasperated laugh, pressing his forehead against his knees. “I mean, I know why not. I’m not a person, but is it so much to ask that someone pretends? That… That I don’t fuck everything up without even trying? That I don’t deserve to be hurt?” he hissed, sharply. “That I don’t earn mistreatment simply by being?”

Thick, black rivulets of determination fell from his sockets, and Killer raised his head once more, meeting the chilling cyan of Nightmare’s gaze and feeling an awful lot like he was asking for answers he didn’t really want. “He was trying, Night. I know he was. I saw it,” he insisted, though his words grew soft as his shoulders slumped forward again. “What does it say about me that even when someone is trying not to hurt me, I make them do it anyway? Without even meaning to?” 

He cringed, the tips of his fingers pressing into his bone with a satisfying sting. “And, then, I hurt them back. God, like I don’t deserve it when they do it, right? Like– Like they did?” His gaze went back to the pile of dust. “Like he did? I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t, but I did it anyway, knowing it would hurt, because I’m so selfish that I wanted it to stop hurting me. Like it would ever stop hurting, even if he was gone.”

Finally, Killer fell silent, with a shrug that he could only hope would communicate everything he could no longer force past the lump in his throat and the way his soul wobbled painfully in front of his chest, fighting to make him feel all of the emotions he’d crushed down and bottled up for so long. His sockets burned unpleasantly, but he didn’t dare blink, afraid that the motion would start up a sickening sort of sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to stop until he passed out or died. An unfitting way to go for someone like him; it would hurt, but not enough; never enough, when wallowing in his own self-pity.

When he looked up, he was met with the scrutinising glare of Nightmare’s eyelight, and he felt himself unconsciously straighten, as if that would make him appear any less pathetic.

“Do you know what I think?” Nightmare began, haltingly. “I think… you’re reading too much into the actions of someone who was just as broken as you. Regardless of his intentions, he hurt you, and, now, you’ve hurt him. And, the worst part?” he hummed, almost pleasantly. “It was entirely inevitable. You shouldn’t have fallen in love, Killer.”

Not trusting himself enough to speak, all he could do was nod.

“Pick up the dust of your ruined relationship,” Nightmare continued, and he gently knocked Killer’s skull away from his shoulder as he urged him towards the scattered pile. “Store it away somewhere that you won’t forget; close to your heart, but not in it. Then, move on. There’s nothing more you can do now but that.”

Shaking eyelights, darting from the dust to the tattered scarf gripped between his fingers, stared down at the macabre display of an end that was, in many ways, poetry; poetry of insult. He swallowed his agony. “Will that make it stop hurting?”

Without looking up, Killer could feel the way that Nightmare regarded him, somewhere between disdain and pity. “No,” he said. “But, it’s a start.”

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, each gathering a thin layer of grime that dulls the shine of their golden casket with time. This one would remain golden for a while, like the last, marred by nothing but fingerprints from when he would take it from its place and hold it in his arms. But, eventually, it, too, would lose its beckoning lustre, and its tarnish would mean healing.

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, and here’s to many more.

[nekrosdolly]

rotted

a month after the s.t.a.r.s incident and wesker's timely disappearance leaves you by yourself on the fateful day of the raccoon city incident.

cw; graphic depictions of gore and eating flesh, zombies (obviously), body horror, gun violence (referenced and actual), major character death (you're already dead).

a/n; you're married to wesker, this follows the canon timeline.

october 1st, 1998. the day of the sterilization of raccoon city. your last day alive.

alive as can be, that is.

your flesh rots off your body. the t-virus runs rampant in your veins, leaving you brainless and very, very contagious. your bite is a mark of death on the living. and yet as fast as they run, you catch up.

you rip flesh from bone, unable to register the screams of the living. nothing in your body functions properly anymore.

and it's all his fault. your beloved's fault. he released the virus in the arklay mountains, but he had no clue you'd be among the first to get infected. when discovered, you got locked in your apartment with the doors and windows boarded up.

he finds out too late- a last minute trip to raccoon city to get you out before they sterilize the entirety of arklay county. you're already dead. he's been so irresponsible with you. you lie on your side on the cold linoleum floor of your kitchen, blood draining from you to form a large dark puddle.

minutes. he has minutes with your corpse before you begin to twitch and convulse with the false hope of life. he doesn't know what to do. he can't just put you down- that's not right. you're not some animal- some thing to discard like trash. he can't-

your corpse emits a low groan. your irises are drained of all color as you sit up, bullet holes in your chest from someone trying to defend themself. their corpse lies not far from yours, partially eaten. blood slathered on your lips from their wounds, their gun still in their hand.

"dove," he starts, voice quiet and unwavering. nothing feels quite real for albert in the moment. the smell of death is everywhere, the theme itself overwhelming in your tiny apartment. he looks around your ruined apartment- blood on the walls, obvious signs of struggle that came from you, then your victim.

his sense of urgency returns. he has to leave unless he wants to die here, alongside you- which he only considers for a moment. he rushes to your room, relieved to find it mostly intact and finds a tote bag you kept around, though it mostly went unused. an afterthought, like you were. he grabs your perfume, the bottle half empty and somewhat old, and places it in the tote bag amongst other things that might contain traces of your dna- your hairbrush, your toothbrush, even dirty clothes from your hamper. he's trying to get keepsakes, to contain his memories of you in items you once owned. the last item he takes from your room is a framed photo of you two together.

he doesn't bother using the front entrance. you've likely gotten up and started to wander around, hungry for flesh to feed on, and he refuses to be a snack for the undead even if it is you. as he climbs onto the fire escape, ripping the wooden boards out of the way, your corpse pushes the door to your room open.

"a…l…" you groan. he can't take this. seeing you mangled and rotted, your lips practically melting off of your face. reluctantly, he takes out his gun and checks the chamber. he turns the safety off and cocks the gun before shooting you squarely in the head, grey matter splatting on the hallway wall behind you. you stumble back and go stiff when you really, actually die.

your little life, gone. the fires of the city burn hot and albert really, really doesn't want to leave you here again. how could he do that to you the first time? you were supposed to be the love of his life. he takes a final glance around your room from the fire escape, your wedding band glimmering on the nightstand.

he curses himself as he hurries back inside to grab it, sparing you another wistful glance as he slips it in his pocket and finally leaves your apartment for good.

luckily for him, he makes it out before the sterilization bomb ever hits. he has the next eleven years planned out perfectly in his mind and the absence of you has already started to wear at him.

he goes to rockfort island for the t-veronica virus and brings your things with him. everywhere he goes, so does your stuff. truthfully, before running into chris and claire, he had been moping. grieving. he slept with a shirt of yours pressed to his nose, your wedding ring on a chain around his neck. he keeps your toothbrush beside his. to say he missed you, and still does, is an understatement.

he should have died with you.

[baldurs-writers-3]

Angst: A BG3 Rec List

This week, we have Angst!  Check under the cut for 12 fics that include a lot of that oh so tasty pain (both emotional and physical!), and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

The lick of poison by astarionfreak (4994,Explicit) Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck or die, dubious consent, forced orgasm Pairings: Astarion/Naenia (Fem!Tav)

This is a sex pollen/fuck or die fic. Naenia is the only one affected. Astarion has some complex feelings about consent. It's set in Act 1 in the Underdark.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Daisies On My Nightstand by Thedrowlock on AO3 and bhaalbabebardlock on tumblr (158000,Explicit) Warnings: PLEASE be mindful of all tags and chapter notes especially as you progress through the story. This fic takes a hard, hard dive into dead dove territory at chapter sixty and stays there (the angst stays too). This is an ongoing, updates almost daily longfic. Part one is almost complete. Pairings: Named Dark Urge (Ilara)/Astarion; Ilara/Gortash, Ilara/Shadowheart, Ilara & Raphael, Ilara/A!Astarion

The story of a Bhaal-spawn who only ever wanted her freedom, and how far she'll go to find it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

In Another Life (I Found You) by grovyrosegirl (74380,Mature) Warnings: Violence, Death, Grief, Kidnapping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse Pairings: Gale/Tav

Five years after the Netherbrain’s defeat, Gale and Connie (Tav)’s happy married life is interrupted when Connie is suddenly kidnapped by a mysterious intruder. This intruder turns out to be another Gale, from a world where he claimed the Crown of Karsus.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Deo volente by cyranonic (33529,Mature) Warnings: astarion's past is mentioned, so i guess TW: Astarion :( Pairings: Astarion/Gale

Astarion is having a shitty time post game, miserable without the sun. Gale is having a miserable time as well. Watch them drag each other down even worse!

Reccer says: a darker look than many fics at what could occur after the game is over, with some characters feeling abandoned. Super well written in general, great Astarion voice.

Oathbreaker by Mellybaggins (173240,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, rape/non-con, religious trauma, some dead dove content Pairings: Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Tav/OC

A longfic about an oathbreaker paladin navigating the events of the game, and working through her own memories of why she broke her oath.

Reccer says: It seems like a standard Tav fic at first, but takes a sharp turn into OC territory when Raphael messes with her memories.

jackrabbit by tomorrowsrain (15589,Teen) Warnings: past abuse (really, CW: Astarion :( ) Pairings: Astarion & Karlach, Astarion & Wyll

Astarion wakes up on the beach in the sun and realizes he has a chance at becoming a person again. Maybe.

Reccer says: Seriously one of the best examinations of Astarion's transformation during the game from the start of act 1 to mid act 2 that is out there. A treasure to read.

You'll hate me (make love) by astarionfreak (5305,Explicit) Warnings: Character About to Die, Smut, Sad and Sweet, Angst, Bittersweet Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion pretends to be his spawn self as Tav's dying wish and they fuck on his grave.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Diary of a Dark Consort by NottaBear (8,619 and growing ,Mature) Warnings: Implied/Referenced sexual assault, emotional manipulation Pairings: Named Tav/Ascended Astarion

A found diary style story following the life of a Vampire Lords consort.

Reccer says: I liked it!

i still want to live by fetch_me_penguins (7750,Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Jaheira, Tav & Jaheira

An angsty take on the premise of Cazador kidnapping Tav to replace the spawn she killed on the Ascension ritual and to teach Astarion a lesson on obedience.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Ruin. by Thedrowlock (3859,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, smut Pairings: Astarion/f! reader

It's been five years since you left The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered you, but now you're back to handle him. Why is that so hard?

Reccer says: I liked it!

Stolen Futures by onlymine139 (2530,General) Warnings: Major character death Pairings: Gale/Tav

Gale and Tav journey to Waterdeep to start their new life together, only to be interrupted by a devastating realization.

Reccer says: Just some good old fashioned heartbreak.

when the work needs doing, she will see it done by vampireposter (7940,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: The Dark Urge & Jaheira

A small neglected and abused child attempts to assassinate Jaheira, so she adopts her about it

Reccer says:

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! 

Next week, we’ll be back with Fluff Fics!

[greetingfromthedead]

Tempest Wind Masterlist

Through a destined meeting, Vash found you, a lost soul much like himself, under the weirdest of circumstances, and he made a promise to follow you across any desert. That turns out to lead both of you down a path of self-discovery, love, and hurt. Vash's unlucky shadow drives the two of you from one crisis to the next, but there's nothing you can't overcome together.

Tempest Wind is a 18+ Vash x F!Reader fic with some spice, some gore, a bit of action and a lot of fluff, for added flavor there's angst too ofc.

The rating of 18+ comes mainly from the occasional dark themes and not so much of the smuttiness (as those parts are labeled and can be skipped without it really affecting the story).

NB: The content is mostly Trimax canon-typical violence/gore/themes, but I give warnings and summaries for the heavier chapters and smut so you can skip them if you want!

Tags/CW below the cut!

Tags/CW: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Action, Adventure, Slow Burn, Hurt, Emotional Baggage, Reader-Insert, badass female character, Eventual Smut, Healing, Immortality, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Implied/Referenced suicide, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, powers, Mentions of impregnation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Tragedy, Protectiveness, Pre-Canon, Canon Universe, Injury, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Tenderness, Illnesses, Scars, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Caretaking, During Canon, Creature Vash, Angel Vash, Body Horror, Body Worship, i'm shit at tagging, idk what im doing

COMPLETED: 84 Chapters / 165k words

C1: In Death

C2: Tracking Through the Desert

C3: Acts of Kindness

C4: Night Watch

C5: Birdbrain

C6: A Heavy Heart

C7: Midnight Run

C8: Odd Job

C9: A Wild Beast

C10: Wounds

C11: Laundry Day

C12: Language of Flowers

C13: Unlocked Horrors

C14: Sweet as Sugar

C15: Resemblance of Normality

C16: Taking Out the Trash

C17: Unfamiliar Experiences

C18: Moving On

C19: A Gut Feeling

C20: Gods and Angels

C21: Perfect Morning

C22: Renewed Conviction

C23: Dusty Memory

C24: Unexpected Visitors

C25: Guardian Angel

C26: Calamity J

C27: Playing Doctor

C28: Otherworldly Lullaby

C29: Patchwork

C30: Burn

C31: Towards New Horizons

C32: Stormy Emotions

C33: Tempest

C34: Desert Night

C35: Mayfly of Love

C36: Sign of Appreciation

C37: Plotting

C38: Execution

C39: Hands

C40: Storm Clouds

C41: Truth Unfurled

C42: Ray of Hope

C43: Lucky

C44: Sandstorm

C45: Back in a Lab

C46: Signals

C47: Glimpse of the Past

C48: Nature of Your Being

C49: Irises

C50: Frozen Dream

C51: Spring

C52: Worship

C53: Breakfast

C54: Experimented

C55: United Again

C56: Rest of Eternity

C57: Subject 0325

C58: Project HUMAN

C59: Comfort in Knowledge

C60: First Day of the Future

C61: Puzzle Pieces

C62: Day and Night

C63: Daylight Robbery

C64: Journey to December

C65: Snatchers

C66: Last Calm Breaths

C67: Dark Underworld

C68: Rescue Mission

C69: A Bloody Demon

C70: Time Catches Up

C71: Blame

C72: On to the Next Crisis

C73: Last Night

C74: Goodbye

C75: Fragments

C76: Talk of Love and Peace

C77: Uncanny Valley

C78: Lover's Face

C79: Ghost of You

C80: Happy Birthday

C81: A Paradise for You and Me

C82: Breaking of a Will

C83: Life and Death

C84: Epilogue

Demo Chapters modified into oneshots:

Womanizer - confined spaces affects Vash in a strange way and he has turned on his charm to try and seduce you.

Perfect Morning - domestic fluff, intimacy, mild smuttiness, shy Vash

Festivities - delusional bliss on an unfamiliar planet with weird traditions, ice skating and sweet Vash

Burn - basically smuttiness with little actual plot

Desire - no plot, just porn. Often the quiet and shy ones surprise you...

Happy Birthday - You find yourself on a furry side quest and it turns into a very special birthday celebration that Vash puts on for you.

Mayfly of Love - Vash is tormented by a nightmare of losing you and his guilt for causing the Great Fall.

You can also read it on other platforms: AO3! Wattpad! Quotev!

Check out my other stuff: MASTERLIST.

[steddieholidaydrabbles]

Week 1 Masterlist

Week one is done and you guys have been doing an incredible job! Whether you pre-wrote and scheduled posts or have been writing every single day, you deserve a hug and forehead kiss!

Please check below for the full masterlist of week one. Check the tags on them (especially for Came Back Wrong day, that was a heck of a round of submissions) and don't forget to support writers and artists by reblogging their work!

DAY 1 - OPEN MIC NIGHT

a bit of tear inducing nerd music by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, fluff, lotr references, steve harrington can sing, smitten!eddie munson, nerd!steve harrington

your heart sings to mine by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: alcohol, implied/referenced recreational drug use | tags: mutual pining, idiots to lovers, love confessions in the rain

You Say Bark, I Say Bite by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: language, smoking | tags: pre-s4, pre-steddie, platonic stobin, corroden coffin

checking it twice by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: coffee shop au, modern setting, established relationship

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: open mic, karaoke, queer bar, holiday season, Christmas

A song for the night by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: pre-steddie

I want you to want me by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: exes, open but hopeful ending

open mic by @yellowsweater-bluevest (art)

DAY 2 - CAME BACK WRONG

beautiful in all its wrongness by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: kas!eddie, angst, self-sacrificing steve | tags: one-sided crush (or is it?)

hide away by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: mentions of blood, canon-typical violence | tags: vampire eddie munson, emotional reunion, soul bond

sometimes dead is better by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | cw: canon death, monster!eddie, body horror | tags: horror, hurt/no comfort, dark, pet sematary vibes, dead dove:do no eat, post-s4, steve pov

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, found family, christmas cards, holiday cards, return to sender

In the ruins by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: apocalypse, off-screen character death, imprisonment, body horror, blood and gore, hurt/no comfort, starvation, vampirism | tags: darkfic, came back wrong, vecna won, unreliable narrator

Break it first by just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated M | cw: mind-control, brainwashing, possessive behavior, referenced character death, aftermath of trauma, aftermath of injury, kidnapping | tags: kas!eddie munson, dark eddie munson

a small surprise by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: steve has bad parents, diet culture | tags: de-aged steve harrington

peppermint chocolate by @cranberrymoons | Rated M | no cw | tags: vampire eddie, morning fluff, established relationship

disoriented and afraid by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | cw: major character death, vampire eddie, dark, dead dove: do not eat | tags: post-s4

ruins of a future once held sure by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: major injury | tags: hurt eddie munson, angst, grief, injury recovery, hopeful ending, pre-steddie, post-vecna

let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, first kiss, kas!eddie

his lips still blue by @klausinamarink | Rated T | cw: hypothermia, supposed character death | tags: established relationship, supernatural/horror vibes

DAY 3 - MUTUAL PINING

Pining for the Fjords by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: matchmaker robin, monty python references, getting together, kissing, bisexual steve harrington, eddie munson lives

if you call me back by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: angst with a happy ending, mention of being drunk | tags: mutual pining, long distance friends, friends to lovers

Loving from afar by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: mutual pining, pre-steddie

Obviously by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: brief period-typical internalized homophobia | tags: dual pov, post-season 4, idiots in love, just make a move already, platonic stobin, eddie and gareth are best friends

Take my hand (we'll make it, i swear) by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated G | cw: steve getting vecna'd, some violent imagery | tags: idiots in love, fluff and angst

speak a little louder by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, flirting, nerds in a basement

Stolen Pine by @redlegumes | Rated E | no cw | tags: idiots in love, pining, christmas tree without glasses, light theft

DAY 4 - MEET CUTE AT WORK

stumbling into you by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out | tags: making out, getting together, rock star eddie munson, modern au

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Punch me out by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | cw: Blowjobs, dirty talk, slight degradation kink | tags: no UD au, company christmas party, bathroom sex

Get a Grip on Yourself, Munson by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: transfem stevie harrington, trasnmasc eddie munson, dad eddie munson, everyone's bi, fluff, flirting

Baby, You Can Drive My Car by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: weed, language | tags: mechanic!eddie, business guy!steve, fluffy meet cute

Cats know best by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | cw: mention of animal injury and amputation | tags: pre-steddie

hey sweetheart by @cranberrymoons | Rated E | no cw | tags: modern au, line cook eddie, waiter steve, hooking up

There can only be one Santa driving a DeLorean by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: mechanic au, matching sweaters, bad flirting

Love Over Box Labels by @klausinamarink | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, no Upside Down, the romanticisms of working at warehouses

DAY 5 - FREE SPACE (DOMESTIC FLUFF)

never take it for granted, this domestic bliss by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, singing, baking

won't ever learn by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, steddie dads

The biggest, brightest, gaudiest display in all of Indiana by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated G | cw: one slight mention of PTSD | tags: Post-Vecna, everybody lives, pining, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, christmas

A Solid Plan by @thisapplepielife | Rated E | cw: sexual content | tags: established relationship, teamwork makes the dream work, if you build it: he will come, idiots in love, silly sex mishaps, first apartment, flat pack furniture

the scrooge who stole christmas by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw

Breakfast in bed by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

DAY 6 - COOKING TOGETHER

powdered sugar nose by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: food as a way to flirt, allusions to sex, fade to black sex | tags: established relationship, fluff, subtle praise kink

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Hungry for you by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: sexually explicit language | tags: No UD AU, modern au, record shop owner!eddie, restaurant owner!steve, sexual tension, top steve, bottom eddie

Mixing it up (Moving us on) by @katyawriteswhump | Rated T | cw: alcohol and drug use, implied chronic pain/illness, angst | tags: fluff

Catch Fire by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | no cw | tags: established relationship, idiots in love, first home, cooking mishaps

Life lesson: Never share a kitchen. by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: angst, ambiguous ending

have a cup(cake) of cheer by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: future fic, rockstar eddie, teacher steve, evil pta moms

Tradition by @maxinemaxmayfield | Rated T | no cw | tags: first kiss, post-s4, getting together, friends to lovers

and they dance by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, established steddie

Crepes and Cake Batter by @klausinamarink | Rated G | cw: post-domestic argument | tags: stress baking, hurt/comfort, sad steve

DAY 7 - HANUKKAH

the fifth night by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: non-practicing jewish eddie, getting together, first kiss, flirting

You Know Why by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | no cw | tags: canon divergence post-s4, eddie munson lives, gift giving, mutual attraction, flirting and wooing

Kindling the light by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: jewish steve harrington

[batrogers]

My AO3 Contents Masterpost

So I've been having some frustrations finding old fiction on my AO3, so after cleaning up my That Broken Promise masterpost I thought... I could do one for all my Zelda stuff, right?

Right.

......

This is really long (like, ~100 things) I'm so sorry.

Fics below are organized into: Long fics General Zelda Short fics PWP Art Other Zelda AUs

See the above That Broken Promise masterpost for my own AU fics.

Some notes on my writing:

I am a multi-shipper, and I write for multiple AUs, multiple games, and sometimes write mutually exclusive pieces to explores different ways the same scenario can go.

Unless things specifically say they're related to each other (and sometimes even when they do) there may be obvious or not-so-obvious contradictions in things like age, gender, body types, race, and relationships. While the broad strokes of world-building are usually the same or similar, and if not specified you can pick your favourite, I do not hold continuity to be the most important feature in what is, at the end of the day, a long-running series of one-shots.

While I will aim to make broad statements on content warnings and rating per fic below, please know that my works will run the gamut from G-rated fluff to E-rated graphic sex, death, and violence. Sometimes all in the same story.

While there is a PWP category, stories that have more plot than sex will be filed elsewhere.

MY LONG FICS:BLUE GEM EARRINGS, (unfinished) novelization of Ocarina of Time adult era, after answering how does seven years lost make one ready to wield a sword? What if it was seven years lived in another time? Rated M, 38K. Complete up to the end of Water Temple.

THE PRINCE OF HYRULE, a “first Calamity” fic, mostly written pre-TOTK coming out with some minor trailer/game details. MCD/Graphic violence tragedy. Zelda does not know she's Zelda (trans), and Link does not know he's Link (human Zonai.) M-rated, 38K words.

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH, a standalone Link’s Meet horror fic set in Breath of the Wild. (Temporary) Major Character Death and Graphic violence, and did I mention this was horror? E-rated, 55K words.

A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS, Ravio’s POV of Link Between Worlds, why he left and how he took care of Link. Graphic violence, and brief references to past dubcon Ravio/Yuga. Rated M, 18K words.

JUST BREATHE, a (very old) novelization of Breath of the Wild, based off my second playthrough of the game. CW for graphic violence, temporary character death and implied/referenced past sexual abuse. Rated M, 148K words.

Related to Just Breathe, are two works:

FIVE THINGS NEVER REMEMBERED, rated M for mature themes, implied non-con, and death aftercare.

TO THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, rated M for graphic violence and implied MCD: the story of the last four pictures of the memories.

GENERAL ZELDA: (in roughly timeline order)

[Note: some of these are listed elsewhere as That Broken Promise backstory fics, but the ones included here do not require familiarity with the AU to understand.]

MY DAUGHTER WILL NEED A SWORD, pre-Skyward Sword era. Fierce Deity/Hylia, human!Fierce Deity fic. Rated M for sex, graphic violence, and MCD.

WHERE DEMONS HAVE GONE BEFORE, post-Skyward Sword ZeLink, rated M for graphic injury and fade-to-black sex.

RAGE AGAINST THAT DYING LIGHT, post-Ocarina of Time. Implied past GanLink, renewed Civil War. Rated E for war crimes, graphic violence and MCD.

SECOND CHANCES, crackship Wind Waker Ganondorf/Fierce Deity. Rated M for near-drowning, discussion of past trauma, and consensual sex.

THOUGH THERE BE FURY ON THE WAVES, post-Phantom Hourglass/post-Wind Waker fic with CD-i Easter Eggs. Rated E for graphic violence towards a minor, among other things.

IN THE HAND OF FATE, Twilight Princess puppet Zelda fight. Rated E for graphic violence (including mouth trauma) and temporary character death.

FIVE TIMES LINK HURT HIMSELF (AND WHEN HE STOPPED) Four Swords Adventures. Rated M for interpersonal violence and mature themes.

REFLECTIONS OF AN UNFAMILIAR FACE, Hyrule Warriors, Link finds Ravio. Rated T for mature themes, and implied dubcon/noncon.

CIGAR, Hyrule Warriors, Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link, Link shipping. First kiss fic, rated M for making out and smoking.

IN ACCORDANCE WITH ORDERS, Hyrule Warriors, abusive Lana and Spirit-Tracks-as-Toon Link, Linkshipping. Rated M for abusive relationship dynamics, discussion of dubious consent, and attempted murder.

MINE. Hyrule Warriors Link was given a “gift” by Lana early in the war, to make him more of the Hero everyone expected him to be but now that it’s over he wants things back the way they were. Rated M for discussion of past abuse, flashbacks, and body/gender dysphoria.

TWO PATHS DIVERGE, Post-Link to the Past, pre-Oracles, Link finished his adventure and never wanted to hold a sword again. He married, and had children, and then the Gods laid down another blow. Rated T for dark, mature themes.

A NEW AGE, post-Zelda I/pre-Zelda II. Link discovers the blood curse, and finally reaches out to Zelda for help. Rated M for graphic violence and mature themes.

THE LOST LITTLE BIRD, Age of Calamity sword pull, rewritten to answer why Link didn't have the sword already. Rated T for mature themes and moderate violence.

DESERVED, post-BOTW Link confronts Zelda about things she won’t tell him about his past. Who decides what he deserves to know or not?

WANTS AND NEEDS, post-TOTK. Link loses his arm to complications after rescuing Zelda and has to cope. Rated M for graphic injury and PTSD. Technically incomplete but works for now as standalone.

TAXATION IN HYRULE, Exactly what it says on the tin kind of meta analysis. Rated G.

SHORT FICTION: (in roughly timeline order)

SHE OFFERED A CHOICE (about Farore & the Fierce Deity)

SHEPHERD'S PIE (OoT MaLink)

SCOLD'S BRIDLE (FSA Vio Link)

YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET HURT (FSA, Shadow/Vio)

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS (HW Link & Sheik)

WHO HURT YOU (HW Toon Link & Link)

FLINCH (BOTW Zelda & Link)

WATCHFUL NIGHTS (LU Time & Legend)

GORE SNIPS (Collected M & E rated short violence)

FLUFF DUMP (Collected G-M rated short fiction)

PWP & NON-CON: (in roughly timeline order)

THE DEMON KING, Skyward Sword era Fierce Deity. Demise/Fierce Deity, sensual graphic violence.

A DRINK OF THE FORBIDDEN CUP, Twilight Princess ZeLink, graphic consensual BDSM violence and sex.

ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, Hyrule Warriors. Cia/Link & Lana/Link non-con, restraint and coercion.

SILENT GUARDIANS, Hyrule Warriors. Volga/Link bad idea sex, with a hurt/comfort ending.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST, Hyrule Warriors. Zelda/Link consensual sex

MOUTHFUL OF FLESH, Hyrule Warriors era Yuga gets his hands on Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link and has some fun. Non-con, gags, paralysis, and blood play.

DEFY AND DEFINE THE DARKNESS, Yuga/Ravio, dubcon turned noncon, torture.

LOCK PICKS, mid-Link Between Worlds. Ravio & Link, and implied dubcon Ravio/Yuga, non-con body modification and chastity play.

TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME, Bozai/Link non-con/graphic violence, implied temporary character death.

WAIT FOR ME TO COME AROUND AGAIN, Calamity/Zelda MCD non-con. BOTW bad ending.

SAW THE GOLD RETURN TO RUST, Zelda/Link & Calamity horrors, non-con/graphic violence and temporary character death. Post-BOTW, pre-TOTK.

MURDER WITH BENEFITS, bad ending post-TOTK, Demon King Ganondorf/Fierce Deity, graphic violence and dubcon sex.

SON OF THE DESERT WINDS, TOTK Ganondorf/Rauru, political dubcon turned noncon with eye scream body horror.

PRIVATE COMFORTS, Serial Numbers Filed Off Link/Link porn. Consensual sex.

ART:

WAGES OF WAR, rated E for violence, post-Ocarina of Time torture

BUT NOT LIKE THIS, rated E, comic of “Rage Against That Dying Light”

LAST NIGHT, rated E for non-con, Yuga/Ravio

OBEDIENCE, rated M for BDSM, Hilda/Ravio

JUST A GAME, rated E for violence, artwork for “Having Fun Yet?” by @triforce-of-mischief

WELCOME HOME, rated E for sex, BOTW GanLink

LINKED UNIVERSE FICS: @linkeduniverse

SHINING EYES, in which Time is possessed and the Chain must get him freed and hope the cure for what ails them isn’t worse than the illness. Rated T for moderate violence.

BREAKING THE FAITH: Time handles being back among the Gerudo, even in someone else’s world, poorly. Rated M for attempted murder and mature themes.

RAVIOLI INTERRUPTED, in which Ravio sends the Chain on to the city so he can have some alone time with his lover. Rated M for sensuality.

THE DOLLMAKER: What kind of person makes the dolls that so often saved Hyrule’s life? What would she be like? Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death. Leads into a series all its own, ALL THE LITTLE DOLLS.

YOU'RE NOT ALONE, Wind wakes up bleeding and has to ask Hyrule what’s wrong. Rated G, talk of menstruation.

SKIN & GOLD, in which Time must save Legend from Gerudo slavers and try not to lose his composure in the face of Twinrova being... kind? Rated T for mature themes.

BROWSING AMONG THE LILIES, Time returns home and Malon does her best to comfort him. Rated E for consensual sex.

MAKE IT STOP, Ravio comes to see his lover after Warriors writes to tell him he is very unwell. Rated G.

DON'T TOUCH MY BROTHER, In Wild’s era, Hyrule catches someone talking to his brother in an unpleasant way. Rated T for brief violence and sexual harassment.

KNOWING ONLY MAKES IT HARDER, Warriors pushed himself to exhaustion until Sky drugged him to spare him further injury, but he does not take being tricked well at all. Time talks him down. Rated G

THROUGH THE VALLEY, in which the Chain winds up somewhere nearly pitch black where Wild’s Slate says they’re in the Gerudo Desert but they very much are NOT. Rated E for graphic violence and temporary character death.

IN THE DARK, POV swap of Through the Valley into Warriors POV. Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death.

DO YOU TRUST ME, in which Legend gets pollen in his mouth from a strange plant in a strange, dark realm in Wild’s world and has a bad trip. Rated G. This fic got art from @kikker-oma during Fan Joy July!

CARMELIZE. Twilight never really wondered why Warriors watched him cook before. He honestly barely noticed he did it at all, until suddenly he moved to leave. Rated G.

SEARED AND TURNED, Warriors has a nightmare, but he doesn’t want to bother anyone with the details. Rated T, for graphic nightmare imagery.

UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, Malon writes Time with a question about how her beloved husband, who most definitely cannot get her pregnant, did so anyways. She has her suspicions. Rated M for sensual descriptions in epistolary fic.

TOO MANY QUESTIONS, Wind is curious and Hyrule’s happy to answer his questions, but some things are too specific to brush off as unimportant how he came to that conclusion. Rated M for frank discussion of sex acts.

LINK HEART-EATER. Hyrule got a nickname long before he was in the Chain, and before he ever killed Ganon in fact. It’s the kind that can come back to bite you. Rated E for graphic violence.

THINGS BEST LEFT UNSAID, in which Time, Warriors & Twilight get drunk and complain about politics and home and things some of the others never thought they’d hear. Rated T for mature themes.

LANGUAGE BARRIERS, AND OTHER THINGS. Warriors finally notices something odd about how Twilight’s Zelda speaks of him. Rated G.

MERMAID LAKE, Ravio comes to visit the Chain, and Warriors tells him Legend went off to the lake to blow off steam. Ravio knows exactly what that means. Rated M for sex.

FIRST, YOU MUST FORGIVE YOURSELF, Sky is having a hard time after being kidnapped and tortured, and Time tries to talk him down. Rated M for discussion of sexual violence.

LINKED UNIVERSE x THAT BROKEN PROMISE FICS: @thatbrokenpromise

LARKS STILL BRAVELY SINGING, aka LU Time meets TBP Kokiri and things explode. Rated T for attempted murder.

GOLDEN BROTHERS, aka TBP Kokiri has to gree LU Legend from Gerudo slavers, then reaches out to LU Time for even a chance at revence. Rated T for mature themes.

NEAR MISS, aka Cia tries to fuck with the Chain & the TBP Gang at the same time, and TBP Prince is having none of her shit. Rated T for moderate violence; sequel to "I Know What Will Happen" and prequel to "At What Cost?" by @triforce-of-mischief

WIND GETS "THE TALK," where TBP Far and LU Hyrule discover the boy has questions and they are both very sure he needs to know these answers. Rated M for frank discussion of sexual topics.

RECALLED AU FICS: @recalled11

SEE SKY RUN, Creatures in the sky knock him off his loftwing and keep him down, on unsafe ground that has no mercy for old injuries or new. Rated M for near-death, graphic violence.

IF IT CAN DIE, I CAN KILL IT, Legend hates lightning, and if there’s a monster setting it off he’s going to make it pay for that. Rated T for moderate violence.

MANGLED WILD, Down in the Depths, Wild, Captain, and Sky come across a Frox and Wild forgot just how fast they can move. Rated E for graphic violence and near-death. @l3ominor did a comic of this as well!

SNAKE BITE, Legend comes up from a cave with a dead snake, and nobody’s sure if its poisonous or not. Rated T for near-death.

NOT MY PROBLEM. Legend wanders the Great Plateau, to be anywhere but near the damn gloom hands the others are handling, and finds a cave. He’s not the first of their group in there. Rated G.

AGELESS SOUL AU: @ageless-soul-au

INTO THE DEEP, The Chain is in their distant past, before First was ever even alive to find answers. Unfortunately, someone else is already there too. Rated M for graphic injury and temporary character death.

TWO OF SIX, Hyrule, Warriors, and Legend meet the Dollmaker. She’s very happy to see them, even though she’s already got company – but Hyrule is always her favourite guest. Rated M for off-screen temporary character death and coercion.

[dreamwatch]

STWG Daily Prompt: waking up

word count: 2090 | rated: Teen | Tags: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Angst, Referenced Minor Character Death (SPOILER - he's major to me!), Time Skips | cw: mention of funerals, ill health, sick spouse | notes: there's a happy/hopeful ending.

***

“Eddie, hey, wake up, man.”

There’s a sharp tapping on his shoulder, but he’s warm and comfortable and not in pain (why would he be in pain?) and it’s too much.

“Eddie!”

He opens his eyes and Steve Harrington is standing in front of him. He lets his eyes drift. He’s in a bedroom, small and neat. It’s clean and bright, sunlight streaming in through the open window. This isn’t his bedroom.

“Hey!" Steve claps twice in front of his face. "Dude, I have to go to work, this is your last call.”

He’s in a navy uniform shirt and trousers, a badge on the breast pocket, and a flag on the arm. 

“Are you a cop?”

Steve stops in his tracks. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eddie gestures at him. “The shirt. Are you a cop now?”

Steve puts his hands up in defeat. “You know what? Don’t go to work, whatever man, I haven’t got time for this shit.”

Eddie feels so lost. His head is pounding, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. “Who’s… is this your place?”

Steve’s brows furrow for a second before the look of disappointment returns. “I swear to God if you’re high…”

Is he high? Eddie feels off, maybe he is high, his head is spinning and he wants to sleep so, so badly. “I’m tired,” is all he can manage before dropping his head back on the pillow. He just wants to sleep. His eyes shutter until he feels Steve next to him on the bed, reaching over and touching his forehead.

“Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?” Steve’s voice is softer, warmer now. 

“I’m… confused. I don’t know…” The words don’t come, the questions are there but he can’t push them out, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, his throat dry and scratchy. “I don’t know where…” Eddie’s eyes roam around the room trying to take it in. They land on a dresser with framed photographs. One of Steve and Robin, Steve dressed like a firefighter. One of Steve and Eddie and they’re kissing and he doesn’t understand because is it a joke? Maybe? It’s probably a joke, and the costume is for Halloween.

Steve reaches over and starts to stroke Eddie’s hair, and he looks concerned and sad. Eddie doesn’t know why Steve Harrington would look that way at him.

“You’re scaring me, Eddie.” He keeps stroking Eddie’s hair and it’s nice.

“Why am I here?” The words are a drawl, lazy and loose. If he just shuts his eyes… Steve doesn’t answer him at first, but then he leans over and kisses him on the temple. He squirms under Steve’s touch and pulls away. Steve looks upset, and he didn’t mean for that he just doesn't understand what's happening.

“I’m going to make a phone call, okay? And then I’ll be back, and maybe we’ll try and get you in to see the doctor today, huh?” Steve’s hand is warm and comforting across his head, maybe he can sleep now.

“Okay,” Eddie manages before he closes his eyes.

***

“Eddie, it’s time to wake up.”

He feels the gentle push to his shoulders as he opens his eyes. Steve Harrington is crouching in front of him. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt open at the collar and black pants, a black tie loosened around his neck. He looks handsome. Steve smiles at him sadly, hand stroking across Eddie’s shoulder and down his arm. Eddie’s lying on a bed. There’s a suit jacket and tie throw on a chair in the corner of the room, black dress shoes lying haphazardly underneath. He looks down at himself, the slightly less crisp white shirt, the black pants crumpled up around his ankles.

“Hey. Sorry, you asked me to wake you when everyone had gone.”

“Gone?” he croaks, throat sore and parched.

“Yeah, gone home. Robin and Nancy are still here, they’re cleaning up the food and stuff. Gareth was going to stay but I didn’t think you’d be up to talking tonight. He’s going to swing by tomorrow, okay?”

“Why?” 

There’s a spark of confusion in Steve’s eyes, and the rhythmic stroking along Eddie’s arm comes to a stop.  Eddie feels like he’s upset him. 

“Ed…” Steve begins, and he looks so worried, Eddie thinks, “You know what today is, right? You remember…?”

Eddie remembers holding a broken bottle against Steve’s throat. He remembers stealing an RV. He remembers playing the guitar on an evil version of his roof. But… he shakes his head. He can feel his eyes slipping closed. “I don’t…”

“It was Wayne’s funeral today.”

No. 

What? He’s doing his best to push his eyelids open, but they weigh so much, they won’t stay open. “No. No.” He tries to push himself up to sit. “What are you talking about?”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

“No!” Steve is on the bed, arms wrapped around him as he tries to struggle but he just can’t, he’s too tired, and he just can’t. So he just cries because that’s all he can do.

“I’m so sorry, Ed. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand. He’s not… why are you doing this?” He tries to push Steve away. “Get off of me. Why are you here? Where the fuck am I?!” He’s crying, and Steve Harrington is here (where’s here?!) at Wayne’s funeral (but he’s not dead!) and he just wants to sleep. Fuck he’s so tired.

More hands, Robin is there and Nancy, and none of this makes fucking sense. “Call the doctor, numbers by the phone,” Steve says and Eddie feels the exhaustion creeping its way up his bones, making his muscles weak. He starts to go loose in Steve’s arms and Steve lets him go, lets him sink into the comforter. He doesn’t want to close his eyes but he doesn’t seem to have a say in that.

Steve is crying. “Just rest, okay? Try and get some sleep.” 

He doesn’t want to rest (but he does) he wants to know what the fuck is going on, and where Wayne is (he’s dead, they said he’s dead!) but his eyelids close without his say so.

“I love you,” says Steve.

Eddie sleeps.

***

“Eddie, wake up!”

He’s in bed. It’s large and comfortable and warm and when he opens his eyes Steve Harrington is leaning over him eyes wide and excited.

“What?” asks Eddie.

“They did it. It fucking happened!!”

“What happened?” 

“Gay marriage, dick! Jesus Christ, how much did you drink last night?”

He has this crawling feeling, itching at him. He has no idea where he is, or why Steve is here, and he’s… Eddie reaches out to touch Steve’s face. “You’re old.”

“Fuck you! I’m definitely not marrying you now.”

Eddie flinches “Why would you marry me?” He said the wrong thing because Steve looks so hurt.

“Having trouble remembering things today, huh?” Eddie nods. “It’s okay, that’s fine, let’s get you back to sleep.” Steve opens the covers and climbs under the comforter and then he’s pulling Eddie into his chest, arm wrapped around him, pulling him tight. It’s weird. And it’s lovely. He feels safe. But…

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” He feels warm breath on his ear, a kiss on the top of his head. “Let’s sleep for a while, it will be better when you wake up.”

So they sleep.

***

“Eddie? Ed? Please wake up.”

It’s not like the other times. He’s uncomfortable and he’s sitting in a chair and everything aches. His back, and his hips and his legs and all of it. Jesus.

“Eddie?”

When he opens his eyes they land on Steve. Or, someone very like him. No, it’s him. The hair is grey and the skin wrinkled, the eyes are watery but they're his. They are Steve’s. He’s in a hospital bed and he looks weak. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look weak.

“Steve?”

“Are you with me?” asks Steve, and his voice has changed. Tight and brittle. But it’s still him, underneath it.

“Are you sick?” Eddie asks, and his voice is weird too. 

Steve looks at him like he’ll never see him again. Like he’s trying to remember him. “Come ‘ere,” and he opens his arms doing his best to scoot over, making room for Eddie. “I want to talk to you.” Eddie gets out of the chair, and he aches, he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to make it, but he climbs into the hospital bed with Steve, his back to Steve’s chest. Steve grips him weakly, and Eddie takes his hands and holds them close to his chest. He feels like he’s missing pieces to a puzzle, but he knows Steve and he can hold onto that.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“No. Sorry. I’m just… I’m confused.”

“I know, and it’s okay. Do you remember the first time? I was going to work and you thought I was a cop?”

It’s there somewhere, scratching at the back of his mind, he knows it and he doesn’t.

“I called the doctor. I thought you were having a stroke, or you had a tumour or something,” Steve huffs, almost a laugh. “They did tests and scans and they cost us a fortune. But they were clear and you were fine.” Steve sounds out of breath, and he shifts uncomfortably beside Eddie.

“Then it happened again, at Wayne’s funeral.” That does jar something in Eddie, and he feels a stab of pain because there was a funeral but Wayne isn’t dead.

“I don’t—”

“I know, shh, I know. Robin and Nancy were there, they saw. We were so scared. But when you woke up you were fine, like nothing had happened. And then it happened years later—”

“Marriage.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs weakly, “marriage. We’d figured it out by then. What you were doing.”

“Did it happen anymore?”

“Once or twice.”

“Are you sick?”

“Yeah. And I need my Eddie back because I don’t have very long, okay?”

“Am I not your Eddie?”

“Not yet, but you will be.”

Steve kisses the back of his head and Eddie squeezes Steve’s hands between his. 

“Do we love each other?” asks Eddie.

“So much,” Steve answers wetly. He sounds so tired, the way Eddie feels all the time. “You need to go back now. I need my Eddie.”

“I don’t know how to go back.”

“Just sleep.”

So he does.

***

“Come on, Eddie. You have to wake up. Please.”

Eddie hears the soft voice, almost a whisper in his ear. He’s burning, skin on fire, hot needles nipping at his arms, his legs, his abdomen. He tries to move his hand but there’s a weight, a pull on it. Fingers in his palm. They squeeze gently. He tries his best to squeeze back.

“Eddie?”

He opens his eyes, sticky and sore, and slams them shut just as fast. The light is painfully bright, and he registers a voice in the background, turn the light off, before he tries again. Steve is sitting beside him, and he is young, his chestnut hair full and healthy, skin clear and smooth. He looks so relieved to see Eddie, and Eddie wonders if he loves him now, or if that’s still to come. 

“Where’s Wayne?” Eddie asks panicked.

“Getting coffee. He'll be back soon.”

“Okay.” He hurts so much, everywhere burns. “Okay.”

“You scared the shit out of us, man.”

Eddie opens his eyes again and looks into Steve’s. There’s no milkiness, they’re bright, red-rimmed but clear. “You’re a firefighter.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. My life… it like… flashed. But I saw all of it. All of it. You’re a firefighter. And I was at Wayne’s funeral,” his vision blurs, tears springing ready to spill. “They legalised gay marriage and you had lines by your eyes,” he reaches out to touch Steve’s face. “And then…” He can’t stop it when the tears come. “We were old, and you were sick and you told me… you told me you needed your Eddie back and I had to come back here.”

Steve stares back at him with a deep frown. “Okay, well. I don't know about the gay marriage thing but... firefighter sounds cool? Right? I think I’d be a good firefighter. I think I’d look good in the uniform.” 

Eddie laughs, he cries and he laughs. “You did.” Steve grins back at him squeezing his fingers. 

His eyelids are heavy, always so heavy.

So he closes his eyes.

And falls asleep.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. hi! i love your recs and have read quite a lot of them. i don't care how long this takes, but can you please find me some Dom! And or top!wwx X sub! and or bottom twin jades of lan? ive rea a couple on ao3 but i fell like there should be more fics like this. Thanks in advance! @loverofloki1500

Dom wwx comp

~*~

2. Iitmf some wangxian time travel fix-it but the one who time travels isn't WWX!

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WangXian, WQ & WN & WWX, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-it, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Canon JC traits, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Cw for character death)

Sami's Same Moon Shines series hits on these, depending on the variation. The primary series is WWX time travel, but they have several variations where other characters (JWY & LWJ together and by themselves, JYL by herself) travel back to the time of their birth and change what they can. Several of the stories include ace depictions of JWY, LXC, and WQ. (Link in #10)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics) (link in #4)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) for what loose definition of Time travel is achieved

❤️ nevermore, nevermore by agloeian (T, 120k, lan sizhui & everyone, wangxian, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst w/ happy ending) a /Sizhui!!!/ time travel fic

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong) Jiang Cheng time travels

With Surgical Precision by metisket (T, 20k, WQ & WN, WQ & WWX, WangXian, Time Travel, Families of Choice, sibling bonding through murder, Z chirurgiczną precyzją (podfik) by tehanu, [PODFIC] With Surgical Precision by Gwogobo, With Surgical Precision [PODFIC] by Opalsong) Wen Qing time travels

~*~

3. Hi!! this might be a frustratingly vague request but I really really have been in the mood for this specific type of fic and it’s hard to filter for… for the next itmf post would you guys be able to recommend fics that give heart-squeezies? Not limited to this type ofc, but for example like the kind of fic where there’s a temporarily unrequited love or a miscommunication of some sort between wangxian that makes your chest squeeze? If it’s too vague don’t worry about it! sorry!! i should mention wwx pov would be preferred if the prev ask gets added! Thanks for running all this! @sortablue

Your Heart, My Table by Spodumene (G, 30k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canada, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Dynamics, Parent Death, Supporting Character Death, Chinese New Year, Comfort Food, food is love, Getting Together, food as a love language) ..if the requestor likes this then I would recommend this author for feelz!!

Common love isn't for us by feyburner (M, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Common love isn't for us [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern culitvation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Getting Together, Confessions)

Themes and Variations in F# Major by defractum (nyargles) (E, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, Classical Music, Getting Together, POV Alternating, Long-Distance Friendship, [Podfic] Themes and Variations in F# Major by PandaReads (DrPanda99))

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody’s Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

should i fly to los angeles (find my asshole brother) by belovedmuerto (T, 7k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Modern AU, JC POV) locked to ao3 users

when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, exorcist LWJ, medium wwx, vague The Conjuring AU, some horror elements, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort)

Bunny Baby by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, LWJ Has Feelings, Soft WangXian, Gender-Nonconforming LWJ, Protective WWX, Bad Parent LQR, Fluff and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV WWX, Autistic LWJ, [Podfic of] Bunny Baby by frostedhearth)

the boy who loves you by queen_gee (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Roommates, omg they were roommates, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Fluff, Romance)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost WWX, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending)

play your love songs all night long by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, One Big Happy Family, Sharing a Bed, (platonically for 13 years), Therapy, in the grand tradition of the untamed most of this is flashback, Pegging, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings)

so take my hand (take my whole life too) by cicer (E, 92k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition, oh my god they were roommates, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, this fic is not about trauma, it's about the yearning, slowburn)

r/relationships by vespertineflora (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Viral Reddit Post, Pining, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Comedy, Love Confessions, Kissing, Happy Ending, r/relationships [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

It’s Over Isn’t It by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 68k, WangXian, LWJ/OMC, Oblivious WWX, Jealous WWX, One-Sided Attraction, Canon Divergence, it says LWJ and another character but it’s all one sided, we got a love triangle baby, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

4. hey, do you know any time travel fics in which the juniors (all or any one of them) travel to the past? its kinda hard to find any

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) for what loose definition of Time travel is achieved (link in #2)

❤️ nevermore, nevermore by agloeian (T, 120k, lan sizhui & everyone, wangxian, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst w/ happy ending) a /Sizhui!!!/ time travel fic (link in #2)

And They Lived Happily Ever After... by Morgana_avalon (G, 51k, WangXian, Zhuiling, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Canon Related, set before the ambush happens at Qiongqi Path, Canon Divergence, Bunnies, Good brother JC, Good JZX, CQL Verse)

无别无离 | Without Farewells, Without Parting by dragongirlG (M, 30k, Junior Quartet, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, POV Alternating, Jin Ling's Hundredth Day Celebration, qiongqi path, Family Feels, Hopeful Ending)

Butterfly Effect by EHyde (G, 29k, Zhuiling, background WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travel Break-it)

~*~

5. for the next itmf, wangxian fics that take place post resurrection but not necessarily post canon? canon divergence totally fine but not necessary! thank y’all!

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

~*~

6. Does anyone have a collection/recs for Wangxian adopting Mo Xuanyu? AU or modern or anything at all! I’ve read four-ish fic and can’t find a common tag to get more; the poor boy deserves the best gay dads out there. @tealeyedquatre

Not-so-accidental teenager acquisition by Zamietka (T, 10k, WangXian, MXY & WWX, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, MXY Needs a Hug, MXY Deserves Better, Rabbits, Painter WWX, Sickfic, Adoption, Mental Health Issues)

a thousand fragile and unprovable things by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 5k, WangXian, MXY & LWJ, MXY & WWX, Modern AU, Trans MXY, MXY Deserves Happiness, Best Dads Wangxian, Handwaving The Legal System With The Power of LWJ, A little bit of angst, mostly soft, Happy Ending, Gender Happiness, Let LWJ Wear Skirts Agenda, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

silk linked together by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 6k, MXY & LWJ, WangXian, Modern AU, Autistic LWJ, Cellist LWJ, LWJ Runs A Rabbit Rescue, MXY Deserves Happiness, Fluff)

Seasons of Love Series by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 60k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Romance, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Happy Ending, LWJ Loves Rabbits, Farm/Ranch, Cottagecore Wangxian, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Weddings, Asexual JC, Demisexual LWJ, Scheming NHS, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Pet Death, Heart Disease) particularly part 3, Winter Lights, that's where we get Mo Xuanyu

~*~

7. im looking for some trophy wife/milf wwx preferably in canon setting. thank you!!

~*~

8. I'm in the mood for... A modern AU where wangxian are police detectives. Maybe in the homicide division? And they have to solve a case together. Or something along those lines @ranfused4ever

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

Good For Betting by ana_cp (E, 16k, WangXian, Modern AU, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, fake date, Police, Getting Together, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Co-workers, Police Officer WWX, Police Officer LWJ, POV Alternating, Blow Jobs, Top WWX, Bottom LWJ, Horny WWX)

99th precinct by bichen (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Episode: s01e13 The Bet, Co-workers, Attempt at Humor, First Dates, Getting Together)

As You've Always Been by feralhypertext (G, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, WWX and JC are cops, LWJ is a lawyer who can talk to ghosts, together they solve crime, Slow Burn)

Make My Wish Come True by justpeace (T, 9k, wangxian, f/f, modern cultivation, gender changes, case fic, fake/pretend relationship, Christmas, sharing a bed, getting together)

~*~

9. Hellohello i was wondering if any of you knew of any fics that went along the lines of wwx reproaching jwy bc he knew who lived in the burial mounds, something like wwx (knowing exactly that a-yuan is lsz) asking jwy what happened to the little kid that lived there (bonus points if wwx directly asks what happened to his son/what did jwy do to his son)

I dont think i've ever seen anything like this in fics but i thought i'd ask in case anyone knew of anything like it (i am also feeling petty and in the mood for jwy facing the masacre that was the siege)

~*~

10. in the mood for aspec themed fics! acespec arospec, aplspec, go wild!

Sami's Same Moon Shines series hits on these, depending on the variation. The primary series is WWX time travel, but they have several variations where other characters (JWY & LWJ together and by themselves, JYL by herself) travel back to the time of their birth and change what they can. Several of the stories include ace depictions of JWY, LXC, and WQ.

it's always open by ScarlettStorm (E, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, vague north american setting, First Time, Getting Together, Pining while fucking, Some angst, Happy Ending, lwj FUCKS, Sexual exploration, demi wwx, not that he knows that yet, Kissing, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, confused but enthusiastic consent, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Switch rights)

Oh no… I fell for my gym bro?! by MusicMe_tc (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, and they were gym bros, Acespec WangXian, Demisexual LWJ, Demisexual WWX, Feelings Realization, 5+1 Things, Fluff, First Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Happy Ending)

reports of my heterosexuality may have been exaggerated by sysrae (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Getting Together, straight boy lwj, disaster gay wwx, demisexual lwj, the mildest of kink explorations, Heteronormativity, Hockey player WWX, wwx in drag)

Words from the heart by MusicMe_tc (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Secret Identity, Love Letters, Epistolary (kind of), Fluff, First Love, First Kiss, Asexual WWX, Demisexual LWJ, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Happy Ending)

so take my hand (take my whole life too) by cicer (E, 92k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition, oh my god they were roommates, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, this fic is not about trauma, it's about the yearning, slowburn) (link in #3)

yeah theyre just bros thanks for asking by victortor (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Intimacy, Aromantic Character, Established Relationship, Communication) the most tender, sweet, loving, softly heartwrenching fic ever, with aro wwx

defective. by Anonymous (T, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, Aromantic WWX, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, One-Sided WangXian, Internalized Arophobia, Neopronouns, Self-Hatred, Heartbreak, Guilt)

some ace!LXC -

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) the 12 Moons and a Fortnight verse with platonic Xichen/Mingjue

冥婚 by stiltonbasket (Not Rated, 1k, NieLan, LXC & NHS, Canon Divergence, Ghost Marriage, with a sweet side of bodysharing, Hopeful Ending, Asexual LXC)

a different kind of mandarin duck. by Aphoride (M, 7k, LXC & LWJ, LXC & NMJ, LXC & JGY, LXC / Others, Asexuality, Asexual LXC, LGBTQ Themes, Matchmaking, But It's Not Really About The Matchmaking, The Trials of Dating While Ace, Supportive NMJ, One-Sided XiYao, References to Sex Work, Family Feels, Friendship, lots of fluff, Canon-adjacent, i think??)

civets that live in your ceiling are not pets that you give names like yao by The_Storybooker (G, 1k, XiYao, Asexual LXC, Civet MY, Cute, Fluff and Humor, Animals)

Best of My Love by Justkeeptrekkin, little-smartass (Linxcat) (M, 41k, XiYao, Modern AU, Asexuality, Asexual Character, In which MY is sex favourable ace, single dad MY, coming to terms with asexuality, Romantic Comedy, Fluff, Smut, (ace friendly))

~*~

11. ITMF A) Some good Jiang sibling fics where lwj doesn't have to live in yunmeng. Like whenever i read twin prides of yunmeng feels, in the end it's always lwj coming to live into Jiang household. I just want some good Jiang Cheng giving away his brother. Can be in marriage i don't care.

B) wwx due to being depressed turns into a perfect Lan or him being not depressed but still being a perfect Lan. @whateverweilanlovechild

~*~

12. Could you recommend fics where WWX Came Back Wrong from being dropped into the Burial Mound (or direct me to the correct tag)? thanks a lot!

You are what you eat by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eldritch WWX, Horny LWJ, Body Horror, Possessionof a sort, Cannibalism, kind of, Mild Gore, Teeth, Fluff and Humor, Smut, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Monster sex, Switching, Light BDSM, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Seriousness treated Crackily, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dead WWX) the Eldritch!wwx tag might be helpful

Imperfect Memory by xantissa (E, 61k, WangXian, dub con, Dark Fantasy, double identity porn, sub!LWJ, Drama, Forced Orgasm, tiny bit of blood play, Prostate Massage, D/s themes Falling In Love, Bunnies, mature LWJ, Magic, multiple OC characters, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Porn, Identity Porn, Dubious Consent, Trust, Happy Ending, Falling In Love Again, Angst and Hurt/Comfort) the actual yllz!wwx tag with Top WWX usually has him back as a more malevolent being (think resentacles lol)

through carrion glass, the stars by tombenough_and_continent (T, 13k, XXC/SL, XXC & LWJ, XXC & WWX, canon divergence, role reversal, major character death, sunshot campaign)

underneath your skin by tardigradeschool (T, 2k, WIP, WangXian, Hurt No Comfort, Sentient Burial Mounds, Pining, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Sunshot Campaign, Angst, wangxian is tagged but this is not romantic, no happy ending)

to creep in those empty spaces by Anonymous (E, 51k, WIP, WangXian, Mpreg, Miscarriage, Body Horror, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, False Pregnancy, Discussion of Abortion, Medical Trauma, Ghosts, Recovery, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, main pairing is consensual, Blood and Violence, Gore, Past Child Abuse, WWX Has PTSD, Sunshot Campaign, not for jc fans, not friendly to the cultivation world in general, Rewrite in progress!, this will stay up for posterity)

~*~

13. are there any naruto crossovers/fusions???? just imagining wwx interacting with sasuke, two people who are always being injusticed and fighting for the justice of a genocide (the wen remains and the uchiha clan, everyone?) for crimes they actually didn't commit or were the whole bloodline being punished for the crimes of one person with the same name ??

Staring into open flames by bluegrass (T, 8k, WIP, WangXian, Reincarnation, LWJ as HN, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Family Bonding, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Light Angst, Team as Family, Is this what they call a..., Fix-It of Sorts, ??, Crack Treated Semi-Seriously, WWX is a Good Brother, Uchiha!WWX, age gap)

local teens responsible for massive property damage call for hokage’s removal: ‘he’s really a bad guy’ by Aminias, Rustycat16 (T, 9k, WangXian, Naruto Fusion, Fluff and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Protective JYL, Team as Family, POV Multiple, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto)-centric, Seal Master WWX, Fix-It of Sorts, Crack Treated Seriously, Hugs, Fake Marriage, BAMF Women) don't know if this actually counts, I'm just going through the WangXian tag with Naruto added to it lol

~*~

14. ITMF angsty fic where wwx attempted suicide. Canon era. >15k if incomplete and no word limit if complete. @whateverweilanlovechild

Not Anymore by namelessname (T, 14k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Suicidal Thoughts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, but they're already married, Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, it is a heavy angst, Emotionally Repressed, Dissociation, Illustrations(but ngl I can't draw...), LSZ is Good, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia (but only mild temporary and not real), (TW:it is quite sad though), (could be triggering idk), Nightmares, Survivor Guilt, Non-Sexual Intimacy)

Silent Goodbyes Taste Bitter by Starlight1395 (Not Rated, 26k, WangXian, vent fic, Hurt/Comfort, openish ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Depression, Anxiety, cloud recesses days, Angst, beginnings of Wangxian, Happy Ending, self deprecating thoughts, Mentions of past child abuse, Attempted Suicide, Panic Attacks, Blood, graphic self-harm and suicide attempt, only in second chapter tho)

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pianist, Getting Together, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Hospitals, Overdosing, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

15. I read 'My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun' and 'Wei Wuxian, Who's That?' and was wondering if anyone knew something with a similar vibe. Cross-dressing or disguises would be preferred but anything with WWX marrying LWJ to protect the Wen would be good.

By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, Wangxian, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Misunderstandings, Identity Porn, Identity reveal) A partial match to the request - (cross-dressing and disguises, but post-resurrection WWX instead)

~*~

16. For the next itmf can you recommend some married life wangxian fics? I'm in the mood for domestic bliss 💕

the lives of birds by bleuett (E, 15k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Rimming, Blow Jobs)

Close Your Soft Eyes by timetoboldlygo (G, 12k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Married Life, Slice of Life, Domestic Fluff, Mild Hurt mostly comfort, Communication)

spaces between words (hiding the truth skillfully) by PrismaticAvocado (G, 651, WangXian, Post-Canon, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Truth Spells, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Married WangXian, POV WWX)

tonight i can write the saddest lines by sarahyyy (G, 3k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Amnesia, Falling In Love, Domestic Fluff)

the mortifying ordeal of being loved by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (T, 1k, WangXian, Birthday Fluff, Praise Kink, kind of, Fluff, WWX's inability to handle nice things, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known)

~*~

17. I’m in a mood for some Lan Xichen x Nie Huaisang (post-canon) get-together fics

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[edupunkn00b]

A Light in the Darkness

Photo by Johanes Plenio via Unsplash. Color and tone edited.

Logan finds a light in the darkness when he needs it most. It leads to more than he ever thought possible.

WC: 2617 - Rated: G - [ AO3 ] - CW: fear, minor injury, blood mention, past major character death referenced, ghosts, happy ending Written for @houser-of-stories as part of the @tss-october-ghostwriters gift exchange for. I hope you enjoy it! I had fun writing it! -

“Keep running, freak!”

Taunting laughter filled Logan’s ears as he stumbled deeper into the dark forest. He tripped on a rock but kept his footing and continued to run. Heedless of the thorns that snagged his hair and his clothes, heedless of the cold. Heedless of the villages’ stories of the ghosts and spirits who guarded the woods.

The trees grew thicker here, wide long branches crowding out the nominal path. The prickly pines tore at his ragged sweater and threatened to snag his third-hand spectacles from his face. He stopped, yanking hard to free himself from the gnarled grip of one sharp-spined bough. The voices, his friends’ voices—former friends’ voices—grew louder and he gave one more hard pull on his sleeve. The yarn snapped and the branch took a bit of his skin in trade, but he surged forward.

Loose soles on his worn boots flapped. One caught on a tree root and he slammed down on one knee. Cold, flickering light from the mob’s lanterns shone through the trees. Logan watched their shadows loom over the thicket.

He’d lost the path.

Again scrambling upright, Logan limped forward and dove into the thick underbrush. He dodged to the left, then the right. The shadows grew shorter. The men drew closer.

A dark mass, a boulder or maybe a massive tree trunk, blocked his path. It swallowed up the dancing lantern light, a flat, empty darkness.

Whatever it was, Logan ran toward it.

Shouted swears as the mob hit the thicket echoed against the trees. “You made me rip my favorite pants, freak!” Someone shouted. The blacksmith. Perhaps the shopkeeper. Enraged, they all sounded the same.

Logan hoped to hide behind the mass, definitely now a boulder—he could just make out a bit of the grey treeline above it. As he drew nearer, though, he discovered it wasn’t merely a boulder, but a gap in the rocky foothills on either side of the forest. A cave.

Bears lived in these woods. Bats, too. Worse, if the stories were true.

Given what Logan knew about the villagers’ stories about him, though, he doubted the veracity of many of their stories.

A rock exploded against a tree only a dozen yards to his left.

“We see you!” a voice jeered as another rock struck the same tree. “Fucking tall ass freak!”

The chance of a bear beat the certainty of the mob, so Logan darted into the cave.

He slowed as soon as he passed the threshold, the utter darkness within making the forest feel brightly light. The tiniest glint of lantern light at the cave’s mouth was the sole evidence flames had ever existed. Shivering, he inched deeper into the cave, stepping toe-heel. Relief flooded his veins when the grating voices faded, the last glimmer of lamp light absorbed by the dark stillness of the dark stone. The cave was cold and dry, his own breathing roared in his ears.

He was alone. He was safe.

Fear-fueled strength waning, Logan sank down and crouched against a mostly smooth divot in the wall. Knees hugged to his chest, he worked to slow his breathing, ignoring the ache in his knee and shin for now.

For now, he just listened.

Save for several breathless moments when the men tromped past the entrance, the cave was dark and silent. Even that moment was brief and it appeared the mob gave up their pursuit.

Logan had no way of knowing how much time had passed, nor how easily sound from within the cave might spill out into the forest, but eventually the throb in his leg could no longer be ignored. Moving as slowly and quietly as he could, he stretched out his injured leg to assess the damage.

Blindly prodding, he found a gash below his kneecap and another above the edge of his boot. The rest appeared to be simple bruising. Nothing was broken, but he would need to clean the wounds so that infection wasn’t his next big problem.

Logan shivered, stifling a humorless laugh. Expulsion meant he’d never need to have that argument again. Not in this village, at least. He shifted again and a warm trickle down his leg told him his current big problem was blood loss.

Feeling around the cave floor turned up little more than a few dried leaves and pebbles. He raised a handful of the tiny dried bits to his nose. Yarrow. He stretched to gather more, then ripped his pant leg from ankle to knee. Wincing, he pressed as much of the dried yarrow over his wounds as he could stand. It wasn’t perfect, but was better than continuing to bleed.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a little thud and a sigh. Eyes squeezed shut, he shoved away the pain to consider his next steps.

It was possible the mob would simply wait him out at the edge of the forest, counting on hunger or the cold to drive him back to the village. Even if they hadn’t torched his home, return was not an option.

Under cover of darkness, this little cave was a sanctuary, but in the harsh dawn’s light, it could quickly become a cage. Though tempted to rest for a few hours before heading out in search of a more permanent safe space, Logan was self-aware enough to admit that, in this weakened state, there was little guarantee he’d actually wake before dawn. The fear of waking to the raucous voices of the mob, their lanterns in his face, shook him from his drowsiness, the imagined gleam of their torchlight snapping open his eyes.

The light, however, had not been imagined.

An arm’s reach away, just above eye level, floated a glimmery ball of light. It shone a soft blue, the color of the sky at mid-day. The color of his late father’s eyes.

The color of hope.

Logan stared at the light for a long moment before shaking himself. Was he dreaming? Pushing up to his feet, a groan escaped his lips at the jolt of pain in his leg. The light flickered, then rose, again just above his eyes.

Fuzzy memory brushed at his mind, an old story his father read to him before (and well after) he could read for himself. Mythical fables of tiny lights that would guide the hopeful, the virtuous, the hurt and the needy home.

“You know I can’t return to my home,” he said aloud to the little light. Sharp laughter edged his voice, shame at his own foolishness. He’d been homeless for far longer than when this village, too, turned on him for his strangeness. Alone in a cave and talking to an imagined ball of light, could he blame them?

Almost in response, the light shifted and a second light sprung to life a few feet from the first.

Instead of leading him toward the mouth of the cave and back out to the forest, it drew him deeper inside. Logan blinked at it. Did he really have anything to lose?

He stepped forward and the first light rushed forward, dancing around his head. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, the bright blue light impossibly warm and cheery and filling him with… more optimism than he’d felt in a long, long, time. A third light sparked to life and he nodded. “It appears you have a plan,” he muttered. “Just—” he gasped when he stepped and put his full weight on his injured leg. “Just go slow,” he managed, one hand on the cave wall for support. “Please,” he added and the little light bobbed, like a nod, before drifting deeper into the cave.

Well after Logan had expected to hit the back of the cave, the lights continued, leapfrogging ahead each time he drew near enough to touch the closest light. One halting step at a time, he followed. When he stumbled, a fourth and fifth light sparked on either side of him, sharing their strange warmth.

“Thank you,” he murmured and let them guide him. Logan didn’t know how long they’d meandered through the cave and a high-pitched laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat at the image of himself limping in circles in the back of a dark cavern. Not long after that, the wall seemed to fall away, starlight and the thin pink light of dawn glowing beyond.

He managed one more step before falling forward. Logan was already wrapped in a dark blanket of unconsciousness when the lights caught him and laid him gently on the ground.

~

“Ohh, Jannie!” The familiar sing-song followed by an emerald glow at the edges of his vision was Janus’ only warning before Remus appeared in front of him. Shoulders shimmying, he levitated, one leg crossed over the other, a few inches above the wooden table where Janus prepared both meals and potions. The brilliant green of his eyes over-illuminated the grimoire in its stand as he stared expectantly at Janus. The apparition pouted when Janus didn’t look up. “It looks like Pattycake found another one! Out by the Gate.”

“Hm, really?” Janus graced him with a single eyebrow raise before returning to his work. It wouldn’t’ve been the first false alarm—or outright prank—the spirits in his charge had brought to him. He finished his current sentence before pulling the ink closer to the page.

“Yes, really!” Remus huffed and the lid to Janus’ inkwell popped into place, blocking his quill. “Pattycake says this one’s important, too.”

Full attention drawn, Janus laid down his quill and met Remus’ translucent eyes. “Important?” he murmured.

“Mm-hm… Important and alive, just like you.” Remus’ grin didn’t last. When he dissolved only to reappear next to the cottage door, his eyes were serious.  “But maybe not for long.”

“I’ll get my bag.”

~

By the time Janus had gathered his bag and his cloak and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him, Remus had already found Virgil. The pair were exchanging their typical morning greetings, cat’s claws buried in the thick bark of his oldest alderwood. His hiss cut short the moment Janus appeared and started down the path.

Virgil shifted and leapt from the branch to join him, eyes drawn to the medicine bag in his hand. “You’re not headed to the village, are you? Things are… tense down there.”

“That says a lot coming from our resident scaredy cat,” Remus laughed, not bothering to corporate.

“Tense?” Janus asked, ignoring the friendly barbs. "How so?”

Giving Remus nothing more than an eye roll in response, Virgil shrugged at the witch. “The usual ‘you’re not like us so you have to die bullsh—”

As though summoned by the curse, one of Patton’s will o’ the wisps blipped in front of him and Virgil nodded. “Sorry, Pat.”

Shaking his head at the predictable antics, he pointed down the path from his cottage. “Is he still down by the gate?”

In answer, the will o’ the wisp buzzed half-way down the path before pausing. Janus would need to wait until they were all back in the cottage before Patton could speak to him, but for now, the dual message was clear. 

“Yes, and hurry up!”

~

Logan dreamt. He was a child again, small enough to comfortably curl up in a nest of blankets in front of the hearth. He watched as his father stirred the big iron pot, metal ladle clanging gently against the sides. The pot bubbled, full of a broth or stew or perhaps even the dumpling soup he liked… whatever it was, it smelled wonderful.

The fire crackled gently in the fireplace, close enough to warm him, far enough that he had no fear of sparks. His father had always known just how close to let him settle in. The blankets were thick and soft, softer than in his memory, even. They smelled of sage and lavender and black pepper. A tiny black cat curled near his leg, purring gently. 

His father hummed as he cooked, an old lullaby he used to sing when Logan was feverish or had woken from a nightmare. He smiled as he dropped a handful of herbs into the simmering water, the fragrant smoke wafting through his shimmering blue hair.

Eyes wide, Logan sat up. “Papa?” Rough and cracking, his voice was low. The voice of a man, not that of a little boy. Hands shaking, he reached up and felt his own face. Two-days worth of stubble scratched his palms, and his fingers were rough and calloused. But he couldn’t deny the evidence of his other senses. “Papa, is that you?” 

“Logie…” His father turned and before Logan could blink, was at his side. He smiled, bright and bold, his front cuspid cracked, just like Logan remembered. His entire form was edged in a faint blue, the same shade as the lights Logan had seen in the cave, he held his hand. Wrapped firmly around his, his father’s hand was warm and tingly, sending the hair on his knuckles and his arm on end. “Of course it’s me, Logie,” he murmured in the voice Logan thought he’d never hear again.

“Papa,” Logan clung to him, eyes squeezed shut. He felt real. He felt warm and safe. Familiar broad shoulders, big, fleshy muscles, thick curls tickling Logan’s cheek.

He felt like home.

“Papa, the town, they—” Tears choked out the rest of his words and he cried hot, shameful tears. “I—̛I was alone. I couldn’t fend them off, I—”

“You’re safe, now, Logie,” his father whispered. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re safe here.”

“But you’re—” He couldn’t force the word past his tight throat. “I buried you, Papa,” he finally managed to whisper, squeezing the hand in his.

“I know. And you were so strong.” His father’s hand cupping his cheek, Logan melted against it, just like he would when he was nothing more than a child. “It’s really me, Logie. Just… just a little different now.”

“But…” It was impossible. His father had… “But how?”

His father’s eyes shifted and Logan turned to follow his gaze. A man, a plain, ordinary man stood in the corner. He wore a heavy black cloak, his face half-hidden in shadow. A crooked smile fought its way to the light, the flicker of the fireplace giving him an animated expression. “Logie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Janus.”

The man stepped forward, hand outstretched. He quickly flipped it over, palm up, but not before Logan caught sight of the runes tattooed across the back of his hand.

Before he could think better of questioning the hospitality of the man his father described as a friend, Logan blurted out, “You’re a witch?” 

“You got a problem with wiccans, Stretch?” A cloud of green formed inches from his face, molding before him into a wild pair of eyes above a manic grin.

“Smooth, Remus,” spat the cat by his shin and Logan’s eyes whipped back to it and stared.

“Y—you speak?”

The cat stretched and kneaded the floor, claws carefully tucked inside its paws. Logan blinked and a young man dressed head to toe in black wool suddenly sat hunched in the cat’s spot. “Of course I speak.” His smirk and the dark eyes flashing warmly heavy bangs belied the otherwise hard tone. “Don’t you?” 

“Oh, Kiddo…” His father squeezed his hand and nodded to the witch. They both watched as he filled three bowls with dumpling soup. Stunned, Logan leaned against his father and accepted the first bowl. 

“Eat up, Logan,” the witch murmured with another half smile as he passed a bowl to the man-cat, cat-man… Whatever it was. “We have a lot to explain.”

[entrop-y]

ENTROP-Y’S CRIMINAL MINDS FIC REC MASTERLIST

if you are the author of one of these incredible fics and want it removed from this list, just dm me!!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

winter in america by mutantmouse

a beautiful and unique character study of reid following emily’s death, but referencing things that happen in canon until that point. one of the best characterizations of reid, and of gideon that i’ve seen. please please please read this!!! cw: referenced suicide (no major character death), referenced past drug use

maps by hopeintheashes

set in season 13, reid is sick and jj (not jeid!) is trying her best to not let him fall apart during an incredibly difficult case. this is part of a fantastic 3 part series, and i recommend the entire thing, but this is my favorite segment. no content warnings outside of cm typical violence.

what if i never love again by someforeignband

one of my absolute favorite characterizations of reid. this functions as both a character study of reid in season 11 through the lens of unrequited love, and is wonderfully angsty. cw: drinking, referenced past drug use

between us by hellskitchenmurdock

reid’s time in prison and the toll it takes on the team told through text messages between garcia and morgan. i’m not usually a fan of text fics, but this is so subtle yet evocative and moving. cw: brief implied suicide

an excuse to get hurt by innerslytherin

reid’s is struggling after he’s kidnapped by tobias hankel, and morgan gets a front row seat to this when he sees spencer at a club. this captures spencer’s anger and bitterness, but also his hurt and fear in such an organic and genuine way. cw: drug use, sex

meals on wheels by ethelindi(eventide)

reid’s take on the toll his neuroses have on him, while trying to reconcile those aspects of his personality. short character study. though reid is autistic, i think this fic feels very accurate to how he would understand himself if he didn’t have/use that label. no content warnings.

some assembly required by deantherighteousman

this is a series where reid helps out with taking care of hank after morgan leaves the bau. one of my favorite characterizations of reid; i think it captures his flaws and how he processes emotions, especially considering the season. ***unfinished*** cw: discussions of sex and masturbation, panic attacks, mentions of depression, unhealthy relationships

touch therapy by @foggyblues-ralvez

id be shocked if anyone hadn’t read this yet, but it is the perfect balance of fluffy and angsty ralvez fic. cws: ptsd, panic attacks, cm typical violence

one for sorrow by butterbeerandbutterknives

this is set directly after emily’s death, and follows the teams grief, specifically spencer’s struggle with an eating disorder. this fic is heavy and can be a difficult read at times, but it’s beautifully written. major cw for eating disorders, discussions of weight and food. additional cw: implied alcoholism, referenced drug use, suicidal ideation

i will stay by @samuel-de-champagne-problems

beautifully captured spencer’s grief after gideons death in a way that feels raw and authentic, complete with much needed hurt/comfort. cw: referenced major character death

sleep in quiet comfort by thesunsethour

so so soft and captures such a sweet moment between reid and garcia in season 13. their friendship is everything and this is so wholesome and warm. cw: ptsd

no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight by canon

14x09 post ep where the case about drug addicts reminds emily of reid, and they have a much needed discussion about his own experience with addiction. so soft and emotional, such an underrated friendship. cw: drug use

some things cosmic by dynazty

soft hurt/comfort where reid goes to morgan after having a nightmare. includes poetry and the wholesome moment we need after this depressing ass rec list. i honestly recommend all of this authors cm stuff on ao3!! no content warnings

tranquillement by @spencerreidat3am

reader insert about spencer’s first night home from prison. heartbreaking and smutty, a general emotional roller coaster but a fantastic read nevertheless. i think it’s easy to get post-prison reid wrong, but this fic got it so right. cw: ptsd, sex

take my hand by @hogwartstoalexandria

set during 11x21, very needed scene between hotch and reid after reid’s interaction with antonia slade, taking into account his issues with germs and neurodivergence. i think some portrayals of reid as blatantly autistic (as opposed to a more implied approach) can infantilize him but i think this is incredibly well done. hurt/comfort. cw: germaphobia, panic attack/meltdown, self harm (as part of meltdown)

part of the job by ssascropsik

post episode 5x10, emily’s reaction/how she copes with what she had to do to make headway with carl arnold. cw: self loathing, drinking to cope

minimal loss by thesacrificalpancake

post episode 4x03 minimal loss, detailing how everyone on the team reacts but focusing on emily and how she handles trauma. this episode is one of my favorites but i think people often mischaracterize emily (and reid, honestly), but this feels so true to her character (even if it’s hotchniss and i am a firm lesbian emily truther). cw: cm typical violence

how to disappear by illustratedangel

reader insert hurt/comfort that shows reid struggling after prison, and slowly starting to recover. this is so tender and gentle. cw: ptsd, sex

hope by unmitigatedsuperiority

penelope character study following episode 9x12 through a conversation between her and spencer. their friendship is so absolutely sweet and loving and this fic depicts that perfectly, while making penelope feel real, dimensional, and solid as a character. cw: grief

winter of our discontent by kittyloft

reid and elle reunite after a decade. this conveys feelings of such immense pain and guilt, as well as deep awkwardness in the absolute best and most nuanced way possible. cw: grief, implied alcoholism

every face along the boulevard by radiboyn

short and angsty ralvez fic set sometime after reid gets out of prison, demonstrating the effects of his ptsd. hurt/comfort. luke alvez deserves the world, actually. cw: ptsd, panic attacks

i got 99 problems by sperrywink

a moreid fic set in season 2 that explores how each character individually copes with the trauma they endured that season, and how it impacts their relationship. cw: drug use, csa/molestation

a little extra by @softdoctorreid

fluffy reader insert post-prison reid fic where reid’s feeling insecure about his weight gain and reader helps him out. another author where i highly recommend everything they’ve written!! cw: explicit sex, body image issues

had me at goodbye by wreckmyplans

reid is struggling to cope with the death of maeve and calls her old number, little did he know it was someone else’s number now. slow burn, reader insert. ***unfinished*** cw: grief, depression, drug use, implied alcoholism, self harm, body image issues

the biggest enemy by fabfemmeboy

post-prison reid going to jj’s house for comfort, just like old times. not jeid. this is really evocative and i think the authors deep understand of and familiarity with canon really helps this feel authentic. cw: ptsd, bullying, referenced character death

22 - “strings” by @cyn-00

moreid fic set during 5x10. the characterization of both reid and morgan is spot on, and this is so soft. i also so so appreciate how this includes reid’s knee injury! so many fics set in season 5 forgo mentioning it altogether and have reid doing things that he would not be able to. cw: references to the events of 5x09

as he loves you (author unknown)

moreid fic again, basically an in depth character study of both from the others perspective. there is not enough good and accurate characterization of morgan and this does it so so well. even if you don’t ship moreid at all, worth the read for that alone. cw: racism, homophobia, referenced csa/molestation, referenced bullying

relief in regrets by @imagining-in-the-margins

reader insert angsty smut set during early season 12. i truly do not see people write about pre prison season 12 reid enough, and this is so so good. cw: sex

the mirror man by blythechild

another fic about angsty early season 12 reid, but this time it’s from emily’s perspective as she tries to navigate her romantic feelings towards him while he falls apart. this diverges from canon and he doesn’t go to prison. honestly, as someone who thinks emily and reid are both gay, this spemily fic is one of the best cm fics i’ve ever read. once again everything by this author is incredible, but this fic in particular is dark and emotional and great. cw: minor character death, grief, depression, drug use, alcoholism, sex, suicidal ideation

angels by dilaudiddreams

the most poetic, beautifully written reid whump i’ve read thus far. reid struggles with his addiction but it gets much, much darker. the characterization of reid is heartbreaking and compelling, and morgan is spot on as well. ***unfinished*** major cw for drug use and addiction, torture, and violence. additional cw for referenced incest, csa, and child abuse.

casimir pulaski day by highway58

this fic diverges from canon and follows reid as he struggles with cancer. this is so detailed and the writing is so heartbreaking and powerful, this fic has made me emotional multiple times. it is a very heavy read, but i cannot recommend it enough. ***ongoing*** cw: cancer, hospitals, graphic medical stuff, depression, drug addiction

missing pieces of sleep by highway58, masterworlds

obviously i don’t read much hotchreid, but this fic is too good not to include. follows reid after he gets out of prison and hotch as get gets out of witness protection, as they come together again. ***ongoing*** cw: ptsd, illness, vomiting, panic attacks, brief referenced suicide

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

and that concludes this (very long) list for now!! if anyone knows the tumblr of anyone i didn’t tag, let me know so i can tag them. i’ll probably make shorter fic rec lists every couple of months so as to make this less daunting for anyone who might see it but if you’re reading this, i appreciate you sticking around and hope you check out some of these wonderful authors/fics <3

[best-wishes]

Don’t Look Back Part 2: First Iteration

CW: Major Character Death, Doubting reality, Terminal illness, Mourning, Referenced Domestic Violence, Referenced Alcohol Abuse, Imprisonment, Interrogation

For the master post, go here Hob gasped. He took one breath, two, fast, frantic. He breathed air again, sweet, warm air, soothing his airways. He stopped breathing.

He was not wet. He was not cold either, he was in warm clothes. He was inside, in a bed underneath the covers, head on a soft clean pillow. He didn’t know how long it had been since he last slept in a bed so comfortable. Had he since Robyn had died? Maybe for the first months after his death, when Rose, the maid, was still there. Before they all fled from the manor, chased by his continual drinking, taking with them most of the gold. He had cursed them then, but he had understood. He would have done the same and worse, a century back in time. After that, he had lived in filth and cobwebs, until the day they came for him with pitches and forks, and he had been forced to sleep on the ground in his cell.

Hob opened his eyes. The sun was already high in the sky, tracing golden rays across the floor. The room was large and rather richly decorated. Coloured curtains, a thick carpet on the wood floor, ornate furniture, everything in the room was showing off money.

Hob knew this room. He had stayed there before, only once, but for a fortnight. This was the largest, most expensive room of the White Horse Inn, the one he had rented to wait for his mysterious benefactor in 1589 from the 27th of May, just in case Death was a Catholic and used the new calendar that the pope had decreed in 1582. Apparently Death didn’t care much for the pope, as they had shown up on the expected 7th of June of the old calendar, after Hob had waited for eleven long days.

Hob knew where he was, but he still ignored how, or why he was there. He had told them about the White Horse, during his interrogation, as the place where he met Death every hundred years. Was it a trap? Was it ironic? Were they going to keep him here, having survived his trial, as a bait for his patron in witchcraft?

It must be the reason. They had seen with their own eyes the reality of his infernal deal, now they were after the creature that had granted him immortality. Hob didn’t think it would work. The stranger had never shown up outside their appointments, and the next one wasn’t due for another seventy years. If they intended to keep him in the inn for the next seven decades, well it beat being in a cell, and Hob would likely find a way to escape before then.

Getting out of the bed, Hob went to the nearby chair, upon which clothes had been thrown. Hob recognized the doublet instantly. He’d spent months choosing the fabric, deciding on the cut with his tailor, so that he had the most impressive outfit for his centennial meeting. How was it even possible? The original had been lost to time. How long had passed since he was dunked into the water? Weeks ? Months? 

Not daring to dress in the fated garment, Hob chose another set from the closet, less ostentatious. The clean water, soap and towel were a welcome luxury he had had to do with for too long. Touching his beard, Hob was puzzled again. It was short, well cut. The last time he’d checked, his beard was a tangled mess, sticky and stinking. Same with his hair, which was now cleaned, brushed and cut shorter.

What was happening? 

He finished dressing up hastily and went to the door. Hand over the door handle, he hesitated. Would he be allowed to get out, or would he find guards outside? Only one way to find out. Hob clasped the latch and pushed the door.

It opened. Hob crossed the threshold to find an empty corridor, silent except for the distant bustling of the main room downstairs. From the position of the sun, Hob guessed morning was halfway through, not the most busy hour for the inn. He continued to the stairs at the end of the corridor leading to the main room, if he remembered correctly.

The main room was, as predicted, not very busy. Scattered groups of men were sharing a meal or a drink, while the inn’s crew was preparing for noon. The smell escaping from the kitchen triggered an avid response from Hob’s stomach. After weeks eating nothing but stale bread and water, he was salivating just from the idea of a hot, hearty meal, a soup, or even better a stew. With eggs on the side, bread and butter, milk!

Hob did not even make two steps into the room before he was accosted by one of the maids, smiling at him and guiding him by the elbow.

"Good Sir Gadlen, I hope you had the most excellent night. We have prepared a princely breakfast for you, as you ordered yesterday. Please take place," she guided him toward a large table, the same large table he had filled with the best food money could buy so he could welcome his mysterious patron as they deserved. For naught, as the stranger had not touched a single piece of food at his disposal. Hob should have guessed.

Hob sat and soon the table was covered in plates and pitchers: milk, oats, eggs, bread, butter and the like. Others had him double take. They were the same food Hob had chosen for the feast for his stranger. When they had left, Hob had kept eating, not wanting to waste it. Savouring it like he always savoured his immortal life, without care for the opinion of the source of it. But even he could not eat that much in one sitting.

Hob suddenly realised the maid was chatting at him, while he sat petrified as she piled plate after plate in front of him.

"Excuse me, miss?" he interrupted her.

"Sir?"

"What day is it?"

"June 8th, Sir."

June? Yesterday was November! Had he been unconscious, with no recollection of the last eight months? 

"June 8th, 1622?" he repeated, to confirm the unbelievable date.

She laughed, as if he was absurd.

"June 8th, 1589, Sir."

 ---

Her words hit him like his old printing press crushing the leaded letters on the paper, leaving an indelible mark behind.

This was impossible. There was only one possible conclusion to this date. This, the inn, the food, the clothes, everything was but a dream. A desperate makeshift reality cooked by his brain to avoid the dreadful reality, one of drowning in the cold water until the witch hunters deemed him immortal.

Hob caught a piece of pork with his knife and brought it to his mouth. He savoured the salty flavour of the meat, seasoned with herbs, tender and juicy. He focused on the warmth spreading from his mouth. If it was a dream, it was assuredly a great one. Hob was going to revel in it for as long as he could.

He dug in, eating morsels of everything, eager to remember some of the best foods he had ever gathered on a table, except maybe when he had welcomed the Queen in his home. He dug in like it was eating his last meal on earth, shoving food into his mouth to fill the emptiness inside himself, drinking hot soup to warm the ice in his heart. He dug in to forget to wake up.

This was a dream, yet the banquet ended. Hob was not blessed with an infinite stream of plates nor with a bottomless stomach. When the last plate was empty, he sat there, stomach bursting, unable to conceive what should come next.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, contemplating the reliefs of his gargantuan breakfast. What did you do, when nothing was real? When nothing made sense?  Hob didn’t want to go back to reality.

His attention drifted to the conversations of the tavern. A group of old men, greying hair and impressive beards, were playing cards in a corner. Cards were a pretext to sitting together and spending a moment together, yet the game was lively. Hob didn’t remember playing this variant before, and he took some time observing them, inferring the rules. They were playing in two teams of two, the pairs bickering like couples do to show a decade old fondness. Hob’s first card partner had been the same, one of the smartest lads he had ever met. He was long dead of course, but his company had been a highlight of the fifteenth century. When his strange benefactor had asked him what could make living forever worthwhile, Hob had answered "playing cards", because of the lively company of the people he had sat with, day in, day out, to share a nice moment around a game. That was life was made for: sharing simple moments of joy with others.

Hob’s observation came to an end as one of the players pushed back his chair and announced:

"I have to go, mates. The wife at home will hit me with the ladle if I come back late."

"Afraid of her, are you not? A small slip of a woman like her?" His partner mocked, and they all laughed.

Hob didn’t catch what they said next; his brain had stopped in its tracks.

He knew where he needed to be next, why he was there at all. It was 1589. *She* was waiting for him at home. She was there, only a short horse ride away. Eleanor.

It was too much for Hob. He ran up the stairs, assembling the bare minimum for his ride home, his boots, his coat, his gloves. It was a dream, there was no need to pack his stuff and bring it home. What matters was that he could go home, and not find an empty mansion colonised by spiders and rats.

He rode like the Devil was on his tail. Who cared about the dream’s horse when the animal would be erased as soon as it left Hob’s field of view? The journey seemed to last forever, yet be over instantly. Hob’s mind was elsewhere, elated at the idea of having his beloved back, if only for a day. He had to remember everything he ever thought he should have told her before her passing, every moment of Robyn’s childhood they never got to share, all the love he could never shower over her. How he had missed her, every day for nineteen long years.

The mansion was magnificent. Hob had forgotten, after years of abuse and disrepair. This was the house he had built with the aim of welcoming the Queen of England, with the accumulated wealth of three generations of Robert Gadlen investing their money into the most profitable ventures of the whole century. A grandiose mansion, with the latest architectural prowess of the time, to proclaim a social standing that Hob Gadling would never have been able to achieve. The vestige of a happier time, hollowed out when Eleanor and Robyn had deserted it, leaving Hob living alone in a constant reminder of their absence.

He approached the gates, and they were opened for him, a stable hand coming to meet him. Hob gave the boy the reins and ran up the stairs to the front door.

"Good day, Rose," he said joyously. "Would you mind directing me to my dear Lady Eleanor?"

"She is in the garden, painting, my Lord." The maid answered, pointing toward the back.

Striding through the hall, Hob could not contain his anticipation. His hands were clammy all of a sudden, his heart beating heavily in his chest. What if he woke up when he saw her? What if she was mad at him for letting their son die so young? What if she despised him for falling so low after their death?

His steps slowed down. Getting out of the building through the back door, he took care to move silently, stealthily, toward the place where Eleanor was painting.

Her hair was the first part of her he saw. Her magnificent golden hair, that was so often covered outside, but that she only attached in a bun in the privacy of their home. She let them loose for Hob only, letting him slide his fingers through the soft and shining waves.

She was standing, her back to him, turned toward the easel. The palette in her left hand was filled with green hues, with touches of deep red. The tree she was painting was a large cherry tree that Hob had planted three generations ago, when the fruit first went in fashion. It had grown beautifully, giving a bountiful harvest at the start of every summer. The cherries were nearly ripe, their bright red colour a striking contrast against the green foliage. It was, Hob had no doubt what had driven Eleanor to paint it today.

Hob stood there, watching the graceful motion of her wrist guiding the brush, one leaf at a time. As much as he had clutched to his memories of her desperately, the mind forgets the small things with time. The fine details of her face had faded, erased until the few paintings he had of her were all he could recall. She loved painting, but despised being depicted by another, meaning Hob had only a handful of portraits. The motions, how she kept removing a rebellious strand of hair from her eyes, how she tipped her head when she was deep in thought, all of this was revealed to Hob’s eyes as if he was seeing her for the first time. She was perfect and ethereal, and he could not consider disturbing her, lest she disappeared like a bubble bursting as soon as one touched it.

She swore, furious at a clumsy stroke.

Hob could not prevent himself from laughing. He had forgotten, how unlady-like she would be, as soon as no one was there to watch her. How she’d known not nearly as many swear words as Hob did, but a fair number of them. It had been one of the things that had drawn them together, back when she was a young lady and he pretended to be Sir Gadlen the Third, son of the late Sir Gadlen the Second. He had heard her swear, and had laughed about it. Then he’d raised the ante with a whole new supply of curses, and she had laughed in turn. They had exchanged their worst vocabulary, hidden in a corner of her parents’ garden, until they were finally found by her chaperone. Their letters had been of the same mould, and after a few months of correspondence, some of them had been hot enough to make a sailor blush.

Eleanor turned, surprised by his laugh, and Hob felt the air leave his lungs. Suspended, he waited for the bubble to burst. Surely he would wake from the dream, just as she was about to talk to him. Surely the universe was so cruel as to use her just to take her back at the last minute.

Instead, he was too busy feasting on the sight of her face. Her clear green eyes, matching the soft leaves at the tip of the threes, the paler ones that were the new leaves made in spring. The freckles on her cheeks and brow, barely appearing with the start of the summer, that would stand out more and more with the long sunny days. The dip on her right cheek, the one Robyn had inherited and that melted the heart of every maiden after he was fifteen. Her pointy nose always turned red as soon as the weather went cold.

So intent he was as he stared at her that he missed what she was telling him entirely. Now she was looking at him expectantly, and he had no idea what he was supposed to answer.

"I am deeply sorry, o love of my life, I did not hear you above the deafening sound of your beauty."

"Thank you, Robert, what a gratifying way of telling me you did not pay a modicum of attention," she scolded him, but the corners of her mouth gave her away.

He bowed deeply, flowery apologies on his lips. He remembered, now, how he had come back during his life. Dejected at his patron’s disdain, he had come back in a foul mood, brooding for days while Eleanor wondered what had happened. What a waste. She was all that mattered, here and now. Even if he could only live this dream for a day, he would live it to the fullest.

 ---

Hob had lived what would have been, had it been real, one of the best days of his long life. He spent his time pampering his wife and spoiling his baby son, both of whom he had mourned for years. When he went to bed that night, he only regretted that it could only last for one day, as he would surely wake up as he went to sleep within the dream.

The thought kept him awake for the whole span of the first sleep. When Robyn started fussing, in the middle of the night, he went to get him, and brought him to Eleanor for breastfeeding, and brought him back to his crib once the baby had gone back to sleep.

"Have you slept?" she asked as he slid under the covers.

Hob shook his head, before he remembered she could not see him in the penumbra.

"No."

"Why?"

The silence stretched. Hidden in the shadow, unveiling his fears felt a little safer than in the bright daylight. Like fate wouldn’t hear him, if he spoke in the secrecy of his own bed.

"Because I didn’t want this day to end. It was the best day I’ve lived in…I don’t know, it feels like forever. I had forgotten so many of the ordinary little joys life has to offer. If I could only have one day…I wish it would never end."

She didn’t answer. She snaked her arm around his shoulders and, bringing her hand up to his temple to push him gently down until his head rested upon her chest. He stayed there, listening to the miracle of her beating heart, to the soft recess of her breathing rising and falling like the tide, wishing it would never end. Wishing, like him, that she could live forever, so that he would never lose her. He knew it was impossible, but the heart never cared. He had berated himself, at first, when he had fallen for her. One didn’t go about their immortal life falling in love and founding a family, that was not how one could safely disappear after a while, leaving with no regrets to new horizons. He’d thrown every care to the wind, telling himself an immortal had to experiment everything life had to offer at least once, even family life. Lying to himself that he would be able to bear it gracefully, when time came to fake his death and depart. Wearing blinds, every day, that it would be later. How spectacularly it had failed.

And even then. Even knowing what it would cost, he regretted none of it. He could not contemplate not marrying Eleanor, or leaving her one second earlier than he had to. If decades of despair were the price to pay, he would pay them gladly, for the years with Eleanor and Robyn.

"It does not matter, dear heart, that it ends today," she mutters in his hair. "What matters is that you can live it again tomorrow."

His breathing fell into step with hers, and he drifted into sleep, content, in her arms.

 ---

Hob tapped Eleanor’s sweating forehead with a cool cloth, as she let another scream rise in her chest. He didn’t remember the events happening so fast for Robyn’s birth. The midwife had warned them that a second baby could arrive faster than the first, but Hob had not anticipated it going that swiftly. He had sent the son of the neighbour to fetch the midwife and Eleanor’s mother, but they had yet to arrive. Meanwhile, he was on his own, encouraging his wife, trying not to show how distraught he felt. Seeing her suffer helplessly was worse than torture. Hob would know.

"Are you ready to tell us about your pact with the Devil, now, Gadlen?"

Hob would have known this voice amongst a thousand. Edward, the priest, the cursed investigator of Hob’s witch trial. He was the one torturing Eleanor with childbirth, using her pain to coerce him to talk.

Eleanor opened her eyes, and looked at him with determination. "Do not tell him, Robert!"

Edward smirked, and Eleanor cried again.

"Eleanor, sweetheart, I cannot. I have to tell him, or you’re going to die. I know, I lived it already."

She was shaking her head, unable to speak as she gritted her teeth through the pain.

Suddenly, there was blood, too much of it. Hob couldn’t see where it came from.

"Talk, Gadlen, or she is going to die in your arms! You may be immortal, but she is not."

"I don’t know! I didn’t make any deal, I mouthed off! The guy said there was no price to pay, only a meeting every century!"

"We both know you’re lying. There’s always a price to pay. To me, it looks like your family was the price, weren’t they?"

Hob woke with a start, heart beating fast. The room was dark, it was still night time. For a moment he thought he was alone in the bed, house empty like in the last decade before his trial. Just as he was about to cry for the end of the dream, he heard a faint snoring. He froze. Slowly, fighting the creeping fear of revealing an illusion, he moved his hand toward the other end of the bed.

It hit something soft and warm. In the shadows, his eyes distinguished the shape of another sleeper in the bed. In response to his touch, Eleanor turned around, making a small noise.

She was there.

It was now three days, since Hob had woken up in the White Horse, and the dream still had not ended. After the first day, Hob had gone to bed convinced he would wake up in 1621. He had not. When he had resurfaced again, Eleanor was leaving the bed to answer Robyn’s call. It was still 1589. He had lived this second day in a confused haze, unsure of what exactly was happening, but determined to enjoy it to the fullest. He had spent most of his day with Robyn, postponing any business. The weather was sunny and warm, perfect to bring the little boy outside to practise walking in the soft grass.

Going to bed that night had been a surreal experience. Hob did not know what to believe anymore, if he was going to remain in the dream again, or wake up in a dreadful reality. It was the first. Now, it was the middle of the third night. Eleanor was still at his side, and Hob was starting to consider he had been mistaken.

A thought so daring, he was terrified of formulating it, yet could not stop forming it in his mind. An idea that would make sense of his current situation.

Maybe everything he thought he had lived after June 8th 1589 had been an elaborate dream. Maybe, the real world was the one he was living in now.

Hob had no idea who his secretive patron was, or what he held power over. He had made Hob immortal, but what other magic was his to command? Hob had heard a bit of what he had said to Shaxberd before he had left with the playwright. Something about the "dreams of men". Was it within his purview to send dreams to inspire others, like Hob, to a different life? To warn them, advise them? Was the life Hob had lived a tale to learn from?

It would make sense. It would explain why he wouldn’t wake up, again and again, night after night. This world was real, and the lesson Hob had learnt was clear in his mind. He was to enjoy the presence of his wife and his son in his life. He was to avert their premature death.

 ---

Hob heard the voice before he saw the face. It was the voice that haunted his nightmares, the one asking question after question while Hob suffered. Hob turned around to face his tormentor. He was welcomed, not by the balding, greying man, but by a young face with chestnut hair.

"Father Edward," he growled. Robyn squeaked as Hob’s hand clenched on his little fingers. Hob immediately let go with a word of excuse.

"I am sorry, good sir, have we met?" the wretched man asked, the picture of innocence.

How could he have the gall? Playing innocent after what he had…never done to Hob in this life. This man was not the one haunting his dreams. He might be a despicable human being, but he had not even met Robert Gadlen yet. Fuck.

The man was still expecting an answer, curiosity piqued.

"We have now," Hob forced a smile upon his face. He probably looked dreadful. Father Edward did not seem reassured in the slightest. "I heard your name from someone announcing your arrival, that’s all."

"Curious, who?"

Hob could contain his emotions, but it would surely not last if the guy started asking questions.

"Unfortunately, I am unable to remember." Hob evaded.

Before the priest could ask another question, Hob grabbed Robyn’s hand once again.

"I regret, we are running terribly late. I wish you a good time settling in the neighbourhood."

Hastily, he all but dragged his son to a nearby street. He was not exactly running, but not far. Poor Robyn with his small legs was struggling to follow.

"Dad, stop! You’re going too fast! Dad!" the child protested.

It took four streets and three crossroads before Hob slowed down.

"Dad, who was this guy?"

Hob stopped in the middle of the busy street, turning to face Robyn and stooping down to his level.

"Listen, Robyn, it’s important. The man we just met, he’s not to be trusted. I want you to avoid being alone with him if you are able. Should he ask you questions, I want you to tell me. He’s dangerous."

"How would you know? You said you hadn’t met him before?"

"I know his type. He’s the kind of person that will repeat that they want to help you, then take every word that you tell them and twist them to hurt you. You are never to trust him with anything. Promise me."

"Alright, dad, I promise!"

Something finally calmed down inside Hob’s chest. Father Edward was far. Hob knew not to trust him. He could warn Eleanor and Robyn. Everything was going to be OK. He would heed the warning from his dream, and the harm would be averted.

They went home at a more subdued pace, none of them speaking a word. Hob’s frantic flight had brought them farther from home, the list of purchases asked by Eleanor wholly forgotten. Hob stopped Robyn just as they were climbing the steps to the front door of the mansion.

"Robyn? Not a word to your mother, OK? I want to explain this to her myself."

Robyn nodded and bolted. Hob remained for a few minutes before he entered his home. He was going to devise a way to live with the presence of this man around, nightmares be damned.

That night, Hob was, once again, plagued by nightmares of his interrogation, the one that had led to his witch trial and his unexpected death. The haunting voice followed him everywhere one again, and he kept asking Eleanor to repeat what she was saying as he was distracted.

It lasted until Sunday morning, when Eleanor, Robyn and him joined the rest of the neighbourhood for the mass. The priest introduced Father Edward, who would take over the church duties as himself would be promoted to a more prestigious position within the clergy. For the entire ceremony, Hob could not keep his eyes from coming back on the young man, so much younger than in Hob’s memories.

This was not the same man. This one had not hurt Hob. But he would, another voice added in his head. He’s so young, said another. He could grow to be better than his other self.

Slowly, like the dendrites of ice growing on a window on a winter night, the idea grew inside Hob’s head. The past could be changed, he had seen it. It also meant that Hob could encourage people to be better versions of themselves.

Father Edward had never really trusted Hob, in their first life. Sir Gadlen was not very interested in Godly matters. He had experienced something more, something transcendent. He had won immortality on a fluke. What did it mean about the existence of God? Hob had no idea. He also knew he would not need to worry about hell or heaven, as he would go to neither. Was his existence a bet between God and the Devil, like Job’s? The result of an unwitting pact with the Devil? (the man had said he was not. Yet, wouldn’t that be what the Devil would say?) The proof that there were other powers in the universe that could bend the rules? Hob did not know, but most importantly, he did not care, most days. He lived forever, and that was all that had mattered then.

The result of this was that Hob was not very regular at church. After Eleanor’s first death, he had stopped going, irritated by the discourse on the necessity and inevitability of death. Hob knew better, lived better. Death was a mug’s game, no one needed to die. They just all went along with it. Eleanor could have been immortal, could have lived at Hob’s side forever. And she would never.

Eleanor’s hand took Hob’s, reminding him that in this reality, she was there. She passed along her handkerchief. Hob felt with surprise the wetness of his cheeks; he was crying. The perfume in the handkerchief that had been transferred from her wrists when she was carrying the small piece of cloth inside her sleeve, brought more tears to Hob’s eyes. After Eleanor’s death, Hob had kept the bottle, and sprayed some on his pillow every week to keep her scent close to him. When the bottle had emptied, and the apothecary proved unable to recreate the same perfume, Hob had exploded in rage.

The mass ended as Hob was still deep in thought. He went through the motions machinally, until he reached the entrance of the church.

"Do you feel right, Sir Gadlen?"

It was Father Edward. His infernal voice. His young, clean shaved face. He started speaking again.

"I could not stop myself from noticing that you were moved by my sermon earlier, and that it left you in deep reflection. I am flattered that I could trigger such a reaction. I strive to suscitate a true understanding of the words of our Lord Jesus Christ. And, unlike most people, I am convinced that true understanding can only be achieved by questioning and by doubt. If I made you think so profoundly about the Holy Word, more than half my work is done."

Inside Hob’s brain, panicking, was screaming at him that it was all lies, falsehood to draw the heretic views of Hob to the surface to better drown him.

Outside, Sir Gadlen was the perfect knight, letting nothing of his internal struggle on the outside.

"You are correct, Father Edward, your sermon was food for thought. I realised as you were talking that one of the most beautiful parts of our Lord Jesus’ message is that we can always change for the better. No matter how low we fall, how wrong we were, there is a second chance if we want to make ourselves better, if we change our ways."

"That is very true, my friend."

Edward kept talking, expanding on repentance and forgiveness, while Hob’s thoughts crystallised on the word, friend.

In his last life, all that had existed between Hob and him had been contempt and distrust. How different would Hob’s fate be, if the man was an ally, instead of an enemy? Someone who trusted Hob, who was not as inclined to see the Devil in each of his oddities? 

Hob needed to make a friend of this man. He had to build trust and care between them, so that the witch trials Edward would lead never came to pass. He needed to befriend the priest, all the while being constantly on edge around him.

All these thoughts ran through Hob’s head while his face was machinally nodding and smiling at the right moments.

Hob made a real effort to have a meaningful conversation about change, and what it meant to become someone different from who one was before. It was a subject on which he had pondered a lot, along his two centuries of life, evolving from his soldiering past to his noble present. Sir Gadlen was not the same man as Hob Gadling had been. He had learnt and grown since his early days, or at least he hoped. He had learnt a lot as well from dying and living the same life again, about the consequences of his choices. Without saying as much, he poured a lot of his experience in this dialog with the priest.

It was only when he arrived home with Eleanor and Robyn that he finally crashed down from the adrenaline high. With trembling hands, he poured himself a glass of wine and settled in a chair. He remained there until he was called for dinner, unable to move or talk, the memory of chains heavy on his wrists.

 ---

The advent of 1594 marked the return of Hob’s nightmares.

It started a few days after the New Year, when Robyn lost the first of his front teeth. Hob, Eleanor and him gathered by the fire, so that he could burn it. As Robyn threw the tooth into the flames, Hob was brutally reminded of a night, about a week after Eleanor’s funeral, when Robyn had lost another tooth, and they had gathered for the first time without her to burn it. It had been a bleak occasion for both of them, neither talking much. The moment had been haunted by the absence, all joy impossible. The aim of burning the teeth, avoiding childhood hardships, was beside the point.

It had become a ritual, after, to dispose of every tooth in silence, as an homage, as every step took them farther and farther from Eleanor. A recognition that time went on, with or without her.

With the tooth, Hob was suddenly reminded that the date of Eleanor’s passing drew nearer with every day. He hid all the darkest garments of Robyn that he had worn when they were mourning. As if to defy fate, he bought his son only bright colours to replace the mysteriously lost dark clothes with yellows, reds and greens. If Eleanor was put out by the disappearance, Robyn was elated to get new things.

Hob threw himself in new ventures, things he had postponed in 1594 because of the planned arrival of a new baby. He spent two months in Ireland, setting up some business partnerships. In his last life, this opportunity had never come to pass, delayed and then abandoned as Hob would not dare to leave Robyn. When he was back, he spent more time involving himself in Court, organising his land, looking for trips to the colony to fund. The increase in activity let him run ragged, especially as the quality of his sleep decreased steadily.

After another night where Hob had left the bed before the end of first sleep, Eleanor joined him in front of the fire he was tending to.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I did not notice? It’s the third time this week I wake up and you’re already gone. What keeps you awake?"

"It’s nothing."

"It most certainly is not. You have been getting more and more tired, and sleeping less and less."

Hob remained silent. He didn’t know what to say. *I dream of your death again and again* did not sound like the right answer. It was a dream, he kept repeating himself. But what if it was not? What if it was a warning? Telling himself it was only a dream could not hold, not when he had known Father Edward’s name.

"I am having bad dreams, that's all."

"And what are they about?" she nudges.

He doesn’t answer.

"Hob, I am worried. You hardly talk to me anymore. You barely sleep. Something is wrong."

She grabs his hand.

"Please let me help."

He smiles sadly at her.

"You are helping, love. You are helping because you are here. It is true that I am worried. About our future, about whichever woes are to come."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Of losing it all. Of losing you."

"You won’t lose me, Hob."

Hob couldn’t answer. The memory of losing her was too real, too raw. He had lost her. He had not. Every moment, he was dancing on the two lives he had lived and was living, not sure which one was the truest, which one was real. Years ago, when he had first ended up here, in this version of reality, he had concluded he did not care. He wanted to indulge. And indulged, he had. Yet, now the time was approaching where he might be asked to pay the cost. He dared not hope. He couldn’t stop hoping. Caught between the two, his mind ran in circles.

"Hey, come here."

The hug she gave him was a balm where it should be a burn. It was a reminder of everything that he stood to lose. It was a reminder of everything that was worth living for. Maybe, he could do this, maybe he could have it all. After all, why would he be given a portentous dream, if it wasn’t to correct his course and save the ones he loved? 

 ---

As 1595, Eleanor’s year of death, drew near, Hob started planning more and more carefully. There was one sure way to avoid Eleanor’s death in childbirth: to avoid her being pregnant altogether. Hob had been attentive to her periods, trying his best to travel as often as possible when she was in her most fertile days, so that she would not notice that he was avoiding intimacy. The rest of the time, the nightmares were a good excuse. The dark hour between the first and second sleep was a favoured time for sex. If Hob was not in the marriage bed, nothing could come of it.

Unfortunately, it was also the opinion of her parents], and they were not afraid to voice it.

"Of course, there is no sign of another grandchild, your husband is gallivanting God knows where for months on end!" Eleanor’s mother kept telling her daughter.

Eleanor’s parents lived a few miles away from where Hob and her had built their mansion, and visited frequently, to Hob’s displeasure. They had never entirely accepted that their only daughter would marry a man who, despite his fortune, was of lesser birth. No matter that they had a plethora of sons fighting for the inheritance, and that Eleanor’s was, thanks to her marriage with Hob, richer than all of them combined.

For the last year, the constant topic of conversation had been the lack of any brothers and sisters for poor little Robyn, and of course the innumerable reason why it was entirely Hob’s fault.

It would have been vexing, if it had not been the exact truth.

As usual, Eleanor came to the defence of his honour, and to remind her parents that everything was as God willed it. From there, the conversation would usually devolve to encouraging Eleanor to go on a pilgrimage to one saint or another that would favour conception.

Nothing usual came from these conversations, and that was why Hob did not watch out after this one.

As soon as her parents had left in their carriage, Eleanor turned to her husband, face closed off.

"Are you, Robert Gadlen, avoiding my bed with the explicit purpose of me not getting pregnant?" she accused.

"My sweet, I do not understand what you are insinuating. I am hurt. I have been nothing but a faithful and devoted husband."

"Have you now?"

"I have. I was nothing but faithful, my love, and I dare you to find one woman to whom I ever gave one envious look or one loving word. You are my sun and moon, and were I a poet, I would not be able to stop declaring my love for you. Alas, I am but a poor knight, faithful yet ill suited to the game of love."

"Faithful, I am ready to believe. But have you been devoted, Hob? Have you, when you have been absent more often than not for the last year, riding and sailing around the realm as some knight errant? Have you, when you do not share my bed most nights, too haunted by nightmares?"

"My love…"

"You have not been devoted, Robert Gadlen. And I would go farther than that. You have been deliberately avoiding getting me with child, as is your sacred duty as a husband. The rare times when you joined me in your bed, you refused me your body. You distracted me, with clever fingers or a clever mouth, to make me forget that it is my duty to bear a child."

"I have not…"

"Do not take me for a fool." she warned.

He shut up. Nothing good could be said for his case. She was entirely right, and even though he could argue his travels were only ill timed, nothing so convenient could be said about his refusal to perform his husbandly duties.

"Did you, or did you not, do your utmost so that I would not get pregnant with another child?"

He remained silent, and it was as good as an answer.

"You know what? I have had enough of your mutism. If you avoiding me, deserting our bed, and distrusting me is all I get from this marriage, I would as well go back to my parents. At least I won’t be alone or being duped by a liar. You would do well to use this time to think."

And with these words, Eleanor was organising her departure. Hob knew better than to dissuade her, not in such a state of mind. Until she would cool off, he should make himself scarce. He watched, dismayed, as she commanded the servants to pack for a short stay at her parents’. He was, as ever, admirative of her efficiency, less than one hour later, she was in a carriage with Robyn and her trunk. Hob’s son was enchanted at the prospect of spending a week at his grandparents, oblivious of his parents’ conflict.

The empty manor did nothing to curb Hob’s anxiety. It was too easy, in the silence, to be reminded of the gloom of his years of solitude, after Robyn’s death. He had remedied to his dark thoughts with liquor, until he could think no more, feel no more. It was tempting, even now, though it was easier to resist it. Eleanor was not gone forever, she was only mad at him. She would come back eventually, if he could find the right words so that she would pardon him.

 ---

Eleanor Gadling died on the twenty fifth of September, 1589, after a long illness.

She died on the exact same day as she had during Hob’s dreamt life. Nothing he had done, nothing he had changed could divert fate from its implacable march.

Hob never knew exactly, when he abandoned the idea of her possible survival. It was a gradual thing, a certainly settling rattled breath after rattled breath, when the fever would not break, when she stopped having the energy to talk to him.

Some of the staff had, at one point, sent for the priest. Hob had left the room, too overwhelmed with his loathing of the man, but not wanting to deny Eleanor the last visitation for the sick. If the man tried to comfort him, Hob did not trust himself to refrain from killing him with his bare hands.

Then Hob had gone to get Robyn. The boy deserved what he never had in his part life, a chance to say goodbye to his mother.

He found his son playing without enthusiasm in front of the fire.

"Robyn?"

How was he to say it? Was there even a good way to break the news?

He sat in front of Robyn, who had stopped playing and was watching his father with a serious face.

"Robyn, you know your mother has been very ill."

Robyn nodded.

"And you know she has not been getting better."

Robyn nodded again. He looked like he wanted to speak, but dared not.

"We think she will not get better. Would you like to come with me and tell her goodbye?"

Robyn stood up, his doll tightly hugged against his chest. It was a small rabbit that Eleanor had sown herself when he was a toddler. Robyn had latched to it with a renewed strength since his mother’s illness.

Without looking up to Hob, he searched for his father’s hand. It was as cold and sweaty as Hob’s. With Robyn looking at his feet, Hob could not see his eyes, but there was no mistaking the fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

Silently, they climbed up the stairs to Eleanor’s room. She had slept all morning; Hob had chosen noon for bringing Robyn in, knowing it was when she had the strength to talk.

The room was as brightly lit as the weakening autumn sun would permit, which was not much. Hob had lighted additional candles when he had visited, to give his wife as much light as he could. Eleanor was in a half sit position upon a pile of pillows. She was awake and smiled when she saw Robyn was with Hob.

Robyn was hesitating between rushing toward her, or being careful. Hob watched him choose to be careful, taking in his mother’s unfocused gaze and tired breaths. With deliberate attention, he climbed into the bed next to his mother, and settled under her arm. Hob followed and grabbed the book on the nightstand. It was one of Robyn’s favourite books of tales, on which Hob had taught him his letters. Hob had printed it himself, long ago in another life, and Robyn had laughed at the similarity between his name and the printer’s.

Hob gave the book to Robyn. Opening it at the page of Eleanor’s favourite tale, the boy started reading it to his mother. His constant progress with his letters had been the highlight of her last months. It was a reassurance that Hob and Robyn’s life would continue without her.

Hob watched them, engraving this moment in his memory, a moment that he could not have given any of them in his last life. Robyn talked with Eleanor after his reading, about his studies and his daily life. She made him promise not to be always good and always serious. She made him promise to enjoy life, instead, and for them both to take care of each other when she could not anymore.

Her declining forces made her speech more and more slurred, and Robyn and her exchanged less and less words. After a while, they both settled for a long hug. Eleanor’s breath slowed down as she went asleep hugging her son.

Robyn was not sleeping, but he remained there for a long time. He cried, softly, in her arms, until he could no more. Finally, when he was ready, he placed a kiss upon his mother’s brow.

"Goodbye, Mum."

And he was gone.

Hob placed the book back on the nightstand, and settled himself, next to his sleeping wife. He took her into his embrace, and told her how much he loved her. It was all he could do, now every possibility was spent: be there with her until the end, making her feel loved every step of the way as she departed.

He felt her heart beat more and more slowly, her breathing harder and harder. Every time, he expected it to be her last. When she did not draw the next one, he was not surprised. He simply broke. Nothing held him together anymore, no one needed him to be strong. He cried in her arms, for her premature death that seemed so inescapable that he had to face it twice. He cried for Robyn. He cried for himself, who would forever be alone at the end of the journey.

In the midst of his tears, he thought he saw a vague shape, a familiar and comforting presence. He heard the sound of wings and lifted his head. Nothing. Nothing, but Eleanor in his arms.

He could not detach his eyes from her gaunt face, so pale against the pillow. Her golden hair had lost nothing of their bright hue, insolently defying even death. Her vibrant green eyes had lost their hue, her skin had gained a waxy texture, yet her hair was as perfect as ever. How incongruous.

He kept watching, as if, by looking away, he would miss the instant she would blink, twitch, breathe. She did not. The moment stretched, for how long, Hob could not, would not say.

Hob was alone again.

 ---

"Father, stop it! Ever since mother died, you have been like this! Always behind me, always shadowing my steps and sheltering me! I am a man, not a little boy anymore!"

 "You are not less mortal for it, Robyn! I will watch over you for as long as I feel you are not cautious enough, not before. I won’t lose you because of your own stupidity."

 "Father, it’s a play! We are going to see a play with my friends, I am not enrolling for the crusades, for God’s sake!"

 "I know your friends, lad, I have seen their sort before. They are good for nothing, drunkards and layabouts. I will not have you in their company."

 "I do not care, Father. I am twenty, and I am my own man. I do not need your approval to go out and see a play. Because you became a recluse after Mother’s death means I have to follow your steps. I mean to live my life, as she would have wanted, and you should too."

 "I should forget the memory of your mother, that is your advice, son?"

 "Are you even listening to me? Are you even listening to anyone but the bottom of a bottle these days, Father?"

 Hob moves too fast in anger. The bottle that was sitting on the table in front of him crashes on the ground and spills the remainder of the wine on the carpet. Hob swears as he starts to clean it up.

 "I forbid you to go!" He snarls, desperate. He needs to stop Robyn from going, lest he…

 "You forbid me? I am a man, Father, and it is time you start considering me as such. I am going to this play, whether you want it or not. When I am back, we shall talk about it again. I hope you use the respite to think about what Mother would say, and respect her memory."

 "You cannot go!"

"Watch me!" Robyn defies.

"You will never come back, Robyn. You will die, you will leave me all alone, like your mother before you. Please Robyn, listen to me."

"Listen to you? Father, you are mad. I will not die from going to a tavern to see a play with my friend. This is crazy. I am going."

Hob pleads again, in vain. As he watches his son’s back, he knows he will never see him alive again.

Hob woke up with a start. The room is silent, and dreadfully empty. He is alone in the large bed.

Urgently, he got out of the bed and lit a candle up from the embers of the fire. He hurried in the corridor.

In front of Robyn’s door, he hesitated. What if it was empty as well? What if it was too late?

When he finally pushed the door, his heart was beating harder than ever in his chest. He could not breathe.

Robyn was there, sleeping messily half out of the covers, mouth opened.

Step by step, Hob approached his slumbering son. Very slowly, he touched the boy’s hand with the tip of his finger.

His heart finally settled and he sighed in relief. It was not too late.

Or was it?

The thought plagued Hobs waking and sleeping mind from this day on. As he organised his wife’s funeral, as he fumbled through the daily toil of managing the house on his own, as he was there for his son, he could not let go of the sense of impending doom. Robyn’s death had not happened for fourteen more years, yet Hob felt as if he would lose his son tomorrow.

Hob had changed Eleanor’s fate. Because of his interference, she had not gotten pregnant, and thus she had not died in childbirth. Yet, she had died all the same, exactly at the same time as she had in Hob’s prophetic dream, from another cause. Hob would have expected that fate, if there was fate, would be immutable. That no matter what Hob tried, Eleanor would always get pregnant and die from it. Instead, it was as if the laws ruling fate and death were separated. Hob could affect fate, he could shape the future events with his choices, and the outcome would be different. Yet, he could not affect death. Death would come regardless of what Hob had changed, at the time that was written.

It was only one occurrence. Maybe Hob had not tried hard enough to fend off Death, maybe if he was more thorough, or did it right, he could succeed.

A plan was taking shape in his head, as he was going through the familiar motions of being Sir Gadlen for the day. When night came, in the quiet and lonely moment in the middle of the night, Hob started writing. He was feverishly focused on it. It prevented him from thinking too much about who was missing from this closeted moment.

Hob wrote on paper every death he could remember, with the date, the name of the victim and cause of death. For some, he could remember very well the cause and person, but had only vague clues about the year it had taken place. For others, he could remember precisely the date and cause, but the identity of the dead was forgotten. He left blanks, in case he would be reminded with more clarity later on.

One death was perfectly remembered and occurring soon. Sir John Puckering was going to die, on the 30th of April 1596, from a bad horse fall during a hunt Sir Gadlen would be part of.

If Hob’s understanding was correct, should the horse not be available for the day, or should the hunting party be postponed to another date, then Sir Puckering would die from another cause, on the same day.

All Hob had to do, then, was to find a way for the hunt not to happen, or for the man not to be part of it. Would another man die, instead of Sir Puckering? Or would Sir Puckering die from another cause? 

In the end, Hob’s plan worked magnificently. He had expected a resistance from the universe, against his interference. It would have seemed right, if luck had conspired against Hob changing the fate of a man. Hob had even planned several contingency plans, in case the first one, or more, would fail. He had not needed them.

He had only conspired so that Sir Puckering would not be invited to this particular hunting party.

The hunting party had gone remarkably smoothly. They had caught the game, everyone was very merry, and no one had fallen, or gotten any kind of injury. As the afternoon went by, Hob was invaded by a sense of dread. It was too calm, it had to mean that things were not going that well in town.

And he was right, when the hunting party went home, they were greeted by the terrible news, Sir Puckering had died falling in the stairs of his manor, breaking his neck.

An icy cold caught Hob’s heart. He did not particularly care for Sir Puckering, he cared about what it meant: avoiding the original cause of the death of someone was not enough to save them. They would die of another cause, right on time.

Hob needed to find another way. He had to, or Robyn would die again.

 ---

One by one, everyone on Hob’s list died.

Some of them, he did not even try to prevent: people dying from disease or old age, all of whom Hob could not see a way to save.

For every other, he tried his best, even as he was, day after day, submerged with the evidence that it would never matter.

He convinced the old John to stop repairing rooftops by hiring the man to work for him as a gardener. Old John was supposed to die falling from the roof of the church after a summer storm had carried away some of the tiles. Hob had wondered, after convincing John, if he had sentenced another man to die in John’s stead on the church’s roof. He had not. Old John had died from a bad cut that had infected, on the exact day Hob remembered.

He talked to Margaret, who would die two weeks after her stillborn son, only one year after her wedding. He had needed the influence of Father Edward, or Ned as Hob now called him, to help him convince her to become a nun instead. Margaret had always loved drawing and painting, a passion she had shared with Eleanor, despite their age difference. Hob had found contacts, to make sure young woman would be able to learn how to illuminate, and she had taken the veil enthusiastically. She had died from food poisoning.

Every episode brought Hob and Ned closer. Initially, Hob had not planned to include him in his plans to persuade people who were going to die to deviate from their course. Yet, every time, it was so much easier to call to the influence of a man of the cloth. Sir Gadlen, local nobleman who had hosted the Queen herself, could give advice and be listened to. Father Edward, a godly man, would give advice and be obeyed. It became a two-men act, Hob suggesting the initial impulse, and Ned validating it. At one point, it stopped being an investigation on how to save the people. They died anyway. It became a game Hob played with an old friend.

And Hob’s sense of security was lulled, because Ned was a fun and charming fellow.

One of the last deaths Hob had remembered before Robyn’s was an old friend of Eleanor. In Hob’s memories, she had died, killed by her husband, a disgraceful brute. The man had escaped the death sentence, arguing he had found his wife being unfaithful and been overwhelmed by jealousy. Hob had not believed it for a second.

Lady Anne had been Eleanor’s confidant as they embroidered together. When Robyn was born, it was Anne who came the most often to help Eleanor and keep her company. When Eleanor had died, Anne had taken upon herself to be there for Hob and Robyn. When, as he was sorting through Eleanor’s stuff, Hob had found her embroidery basket, Hob had gifted it to Anne. They had both laughed and cried together when they had discovered, at the bottom of the basket, a handkerchief embroidered with lovely letters forming the most horrendous swear words.

As their friendship grew, Hob discovered a woman who was quick and funny, married to a stern man she had tried to love, long ago. He was an old friend of her father, and she had not know him well when they had wed. It would come later; her mother had told her.

Instead, she had found a man quick to dismiss her intelligence at every turn, who asserted that she had to be content with the closeted life he chose for him. As he was fifteen years older than she was, and very ugly, he was consumed by jealousy as soon as she talked to any man younger than himself.

Her only relief was that his business would often lead him out of town for several days in a row, affording her a small amount of freedom. It was then that she and Hob would meet and reminisce about Eleanor, share the gossip of nobility, and Anne would complain about her absent husband.

At first, Hob would only sympathise, and try his best to cheer her up while they could. Lately, though, he could not settle for that anymore, not knowing what would become of her.

"Anne, you know he will not change. It’s too late for that."

"He’ll die sooner or later, Robert. More likely sooner than later, at his age. I can wait until then. I’ll be a patient and dutiful wife, right up to when I’ll finally be a jolly widow."

"Only if you outlive him, Anne."

"Hob, he’s getting older by the day. I may not look as young as you do, God only knows how you look barely older than the day you married Eleanor, but I am younger than you are."

Hob swore internally. It was starting already.

"Or I could make you a widow faster…" Hob suggested, half as a joke.

"Don’t you dare, Robert Gadlen. Don’t you dare become a murderer on my behalf, do you hear me?"

Wouldn’t it be neat, though? Eliminating the husband, to ultimately save the wife? 

Would it work? It was one thing Hob had not tried: a life for a life. An exchange, so that Death would not be cheated.

After that conversation, Hob could not think about anything else. How would he do it, so that he was not caught? Should he arrange an accident? No, Hob would have no way to ensure the man was really dead. He had to be there, to make sure his victim could not survive. To force the hand of destiny, he could not let anything to chance. He had to murder the man right before Anne’s death. Too early, and he would risk that the bargain was not understood.

How to strike a bargain with Death, though? Hob had one, or at least he supposed he had. How else would he be immortal? Did that mean that Death would be open to additional offers? Would Hob had to frame his murder the right way so that it could be accepted as an offering.

Hob started looking up about Death in every book he came across, to find the most likely answers to his questions.

When the day came, he was not ready, but he was out of time. He had set up a business travel for Robert Gadlen. Seen by everyone, he had left his home early in the morning, two days prior. He had ridden alone, until he was far enough, and alone in the woods. Then, he had left his horse, changed his clothes, and doubled back.

He had felt a strange discordance, at being Hob Gadling, cutthroat once again. Like returning where he came from, it had some sort of significance: he was back to being the person who had mocked Death and got eternal life in payment, and he was doing it in the hope of striking a similar deal.

Hob knew Anne’s house well enough to know how to enter undetected, and he had been, in his time, a good enough scoundrel to move undetected in the dark. It was the second sleep; the moon was setting.

Anne and her husband slept in different bedrooms, which was very convenient for Hob. He only had to slip into the man’s bedroom, silent as a cat. He approached the bed, and drew his dagger.

 ---

"Sir Blackwell, please describe the events of the night of the 21st of April, 1608," the judge ordered.

The man made a show to get up with difficulty, huffing as he rose slowly in front of the Court. From where Hob was seated, on the other side of the room, he could see the bandage underneath the man's shirt, where Hob had missed him. A shame.

Hob tried to focus through the haze of the migraine and hunger that was gnawing at him. He could not remember clearly how that night had ended. He recalled entering the house silently and preparing to strike, and then, waking up in prison, he never knew how many days later. The pain at the back of his head told him he had likely blacked out from a blow.

The judge made a sign to allow Sir Blackwell to remain seated, and the man began.

"Thank you, my Lord. I was sleeping in my own bed, when I was suddenly awakened by the loudest ruckus. I did not know it then, but it was the noise of the guards that were coming to my help, and they certainly saved me, for as I opened my eyes, I saw this man, Sir Gadlen," and he pointed his finger towards Hob, "who was holding a knife above my head. He had mad eyes, and he was constantly muttering things that I could not understand about death and a sacrifice, like some sort of demonic prayer."

Shit, it was likely true, Hob swore at himself. He was so determined to have this swap of the dead work, he might have been praying that Death, or Destiny, would finally accept his offering and let him save someone.

"When he saw that my eyes were opened, he plunged his blade into me. Fortunately, I am still swift from my jousting days, and I could dodge his blow so that it hit my shoulder instead of my throat. If I had not, I would not be here to tell the tale, I assure you!"

The judge nodded.

"Sir Gadlen, as soon as he noticed he had missed, tried to draw his knife back to strike again, but luckily, the blade was stuck in my shoulder blade. The surgeon had the hardest time removing it later when he was tending to my wound, and we believe there is still a bit of the tip of the blade in my bone."

The man insisted to show his wound to the judge. It was a miracle that he had survived the blow.

"When he saw that he could not get his blade again, Sir Gadlen tried to strangle me next. Hopefully, the guards arrived just in time, God bless them, and one of them hit him hard behind the head. He was knocked out instantly."

So that’s what had happened to Hob’s poor head. The migraine was pounding relentlessly.

"What happened next?"

"Next, Father Edward arrived, from what I learned later, he was the one to warn the guards that someone shady had broken into our home. The guards left with Sir Gadlen to secure him, and Father Edward helped me to get to the surgeon's house. He said I was very lucky that the blade was stuck into my shoulder, because it slowed the bleeding. Otherwise, I would have bled to death. I was still a very close thing once he removed the blade."

Hob could not prevent himself from glaring at Sir Blackwell who was parading his wound like a war hero, to make sure Hob would be sent to the gallows.

"None of you, when leaving the building, noticed the start of the fire?"

"No, my Lord. We were all very distracted by the evil acts of Sir Gadlen, and none of us noticed anything. I am certain the fire is Sir Gadlen's doing, like the rest. He must have set the house on fire before trying to kill me, so that he could disguise his crime as an accidental death. My poor Anne, who trusted and liked him so much, this is how this devil thanked her."

The conversation continued, but Hob had stopped listening. Anne was dead. She had died exactly when she was supposed to, and her husband had not. Hob had failed once again. Not only he had lost one of his best friends, he had lost the lost hope he still had to save Robyn.

He sat there, head empty, until he heard a new voice rising above the rumble of the proceedings. The voice of nightmares. The voice of friendship. The voice of treason.

"I have known Sir Robert Gadlen for close to fifteen years. We met when I first arrived in my parish, and we got along immediately. He was witty and well read, and always willing to expand his and my horizons by discussing philosophy. We rarely agreed, and it was what I liked the most."

Hob could not bear to look at Edward, not knowing which of them would feel the most betrayed.

"A few years after we met, he tragically lost his wife, Eleanor, and I offered my support. I visited often then. It was during one of those visits that I discovered a curious document."

Edward stopped theatrically, sliding a hand inside his vest to draw a piece of parchment from his pocket. He unfolded it, and passed it along to the judge.

"It was a list of names, most of which I knew belonged to members of my parish. Next to each name, was a date set in the future, and next to the date," he pauses, " a cause of death."

The silence in the courtroom was deafening. Edward, consummate preacher, kept his audience on the edge of their seats.

"I must confess, I breached that day the confidence that should exist between friends. What could my good friend Robert do with such a dreadful list? I looked at the names, and I memorized the first few of them, with the date, and let it at that."

"It was only later that I was really hit by the nature of this morbid list. Less than six months after, Sir Puckering, who was the first on the list, died suddenly from a bad fall in his stairs. He died on the exact same day written on this list.

"From this day, this list of names became an obsession. How could Robert Gadlen have known that Sir Puckering would die on this exact day, months before it happened?

"I would be ashamed, in any other circumstances, to admit that the next time I went to visit my friend Robert, I looked for the same piece of parchment in his office. I found it, and this time I copied the entire list. I had to know if death would strike where and when the list predicted it.

The preacher turned to the audience, as if taking all of them as witnesses.

"And, my Lords and Ladies, it did. Every person on this fateful list died on the exact same day that was predicted, though the cause of deaths would sometimes deviate from what was announced. Every one including the late Anne Blackwell, the wife of Sir Blackwell here.

"Father Edward, do you mean to imply that Sir Robert Gadlen is gifted with the power of prophecy?" the judge asked, flabbergasted.

"That is a possibility I considered as well, my Lord," Edward answered silkily. "Yet, there is a much more likely hypothesis: in an unnatural death, there is always one person who can always predict when and who death will strike.”

A woman in the back rows let a squeak out and was immediately silenced by her neighbours. Every person in the room was hanging on Edwards every word, including Hob who couldn't wait to hear what was more probable than the truth.

"The assassin."

Gasps in the audience. Hob had to admit, the assertion was sound. It was more likely to encounter a murder than a prophet, and the last of his actions did not speak well for him.

"This," Edwards claimed, brandishing the list, "is not a prophecy, this is a list of targets. A list of sacrificial lambs, to be killed on a set date. Some of these deaths look like accidents. Yet, someone can be pushed down the stairs. Poison can look like an illness.

"Year after year, I have watched Sir Gadlen closely, every time a new death on the list was close. He was always nervous when one of them was approaching. Several times, he told me about his next victim, enlisting me to help him prepare his crime. Each time I watched him, and until now, I never could catch him in the act, I never knew how he would do it. "

Hob listened distractedly as Edwards explained how he had followed Sir Gadlen on the day he had been caught, and seen him double back in disguise. Knowing that a death was supposed to occur, he had fetched a pair of guards and forced his way inside to try and save the last victim.

"Alas," Edwards exclaimed, "the devil is in the details, and I could not be up to the task. On the list, Sir Gadlen had only written the name Blackwell. As I thought that we had stopped fate in its tracks by saving Sir Blackwell, the devil, or its instrument Robert Gadlen, knocked a candle over out of our sight, and thus killed by fire the unfortunate Lady Anne Blackwell that I had tried to save. May she pardon me and rest in peace."

This was a disaster. Hob Gadling had thought he had deflected the danger that Edward posed by befriending the man. He had been convinced that the man would trust him. Instead, letting the man close had allowed him to find out Hob’s secrets and spy on him. The Robert Gadlen in the dream had never been convicted so early.

What would become of him? Hob knew Edward from the dream, he knew how vicious and vindictive he could be against one he saw as an instrument of the devil. What would he do to a man that he had seen as a close friend, to a man that he thought had murdered a dozen of innocent people without remorse, under his nose?

Worse, Hob knew that everyone had to die on the same day as they had in the dream, and Hob was not supposed to die for more than a decade from now. What would happen to Hob, for the next ten years, if he was convicted today?

In a moment of madness, Hob looked up to where Edward was seated, on the other side of the room. Their eyes met.

All Hob could see was the promise of ten years of suffering, of unending questions about his agelessness and his bargain with the devil, questions to which Hob had no answers, even when he was willing to provide some.

He barely heard as the judge declaimed the list of crimes he was accused of, attempted murder, arson, witchcraft.

"Sir Gadlen, how do you plead?" the judge repeated, louder.

Hob could not detach his eyes from Edward.

"Guilty."

 ---

"Father, on everything that is sacred, are you mad?" Robyn spit at him from the other side of the bars.

After the trial, Hob had been brought back to his detention cell. He had no idea how long ago this was, day, night, everything was confused. He was in a permanent state of daze, walking through his already ending life in a fog of pain and despair.

Robyn must have found a way to visit his father one last time before his execution.

Hob did not know what would happen, he was not supposed to be dying now. He was supposed to see Robyn die first. Hob really hoped he would die on the day he was executed, then he would escape the pain of living through his son's funeral a second time.

"Father, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Robyn, I am listening."

"What were you thinking, pleading guilty to murder and witchcraft? You know if you plead guilty they have to execute you, don't you? They can only commute your sentence if you pleaded not guilty, you dumbass!"

Hob nodded. Robyn was right, it made no sense, from the outside. Hob had died before, he had lived for centuries. He knew things he had no way to know. It made sense from his point of view, to try and haste his death, knowing it could not happen.

"Do not worry, Robyn," he tried to reassure his son. "I am not going to be executed soon. I cannot die before November 1621, it's OK."

"Father, you are not making any sense. They are not going to wait ten years to execute your sentence. I have tried to appeal to the King's mercy. Please, can you promise me you won't do anything stupid in the mean time?"

"Robyn, listen to me, I am not the one I am worried about. You are the next on the list. He did not say it, the vicious cunt, because it would have seemed strange that your name was on the list. Robyn you have to promise me you are going to be very, very careful from now on."

"Father, what are you even talking about? I am worried about you. You are the one in prison waiting to be hanged, not me."

"No, I want you to promise me two things, son. Will you?"

Robyn sighed and relented.

"Good, now I want you to promise you are going to be careful, first. Second, I want you to promise me that I will be executed on the 5th of May 1608. Or after, I'm not that picky, but not before. Could you do that for me son?"

Maybe exchanging a death against another one did not work. Or maybe it was always Hob who was intended to be the sacrifice. He would do it. He would die on the day Robyn should, and maybe then Robyn would be saved. What else could he try? Why else would he have been gifted this vision, if not to find a way to save his son?

"Father, I promise I am prudent, and I promise I am doing my best to ensure you are not executed at all, do you hear me?"

"Yes, great. Great."

 ---

"Robert."

"Edward."

An eerie sense of calm filled Hob at the arrival of his old nemesis. He was chained and sat on the cold stone. Everything was finally as it should be. No pretence of friendship, not danger of being unmasked. Only the bare truth of a man that hated everything Hob represented.

Ned had brought a wooden chair for himself, clearly intending to stay for a long chat. He had always loved to hear himself talking. He sat on the chair, crossing both hands over his knees. In the penumbra of the cell, his dark outfit turned him into a floating head.

The silence stretched. Hob had nothing to say. Let the man talk.

Ned smiled at Hob's silence, and started.

"I must say, this was not how I thought I would finally catch you. I figured a grand revelation, an epiphany where I would finally understand and everything would make sense. I would catch you thanks to my intellect, in a cunning ruse you would not have seen coming. Instead, you just…threw the game off.

"Did a decade of success make you complacent? Did you grow tired of the chase? Did you get caught on purpose?"

Hob watched him, mute. He had not grown complacent, he'd grown desperate. Robyn was twenty already. Hob needed a solution, and he needed it now.

Ned grin became wider.

"You were always a mystery. You are an intelligent man, witty, unconventional, but the mystery was ever more alluring than you were. First, you knew my name, before I told anyone. It intrigued me. Then I saw something strange in your eyes. You feared me, that much was clear, but nonetheless, you came to me, again and again, asking, begging to be my friend. Why, when you clearly detested me even as you shouldn't have known me at all?”

Befriending this madman was probably the worst fucking decision Hob Gadling had ever taken. The stupidest shot in his own foot ever.

"And then, I found the list. The mysterious list of deaths, that proved true every time. By the third death, I was utterly enamoured with the mystery you provided. I swore I would catch you at it.

"So I started by trying to find out about your life. I dug into the registers, found where you were supposed to have been born. Son of Sir Robert Gadlen the Second, and Margaret Gadlen. I looked for someone who had known you as a child. And the more I looked, the stranger it was. No one has ever seen you, Robert Gadlen, as a boy or as a babe. In the parish where your birth is recorded, no child by your name is remembered by anyone."

Here was where Hob had been complacent. Overconfident. No one had ever tried to dig up the childhood of Robert Gadlen before, not even the Ned in the dream.

"Robert Gadlen is a work of fiction, the disguise of a man who grew up under another name, in another life. Who are you, truly, Robert? Was Robert ever your name? Come on, the gig is up anyway. Are you going to die without ever telling a soul? Do you wish to be buried under the fiction of Robert Gadlen? Wouldn't you like someone to know you for who you are, once, before you expire?"

Hob couldn't stop himself. He laughed. He laughed maniacally, until tears were sliding down his cheeks. Chuckles turned into ugly sobs at some point.

"Well, what do you have to say?" Ned asked again.

"You're asking, but you won't believe me when I tell you."

"Why wouldn't I? I'm here for answers, I am fully ready to listen to you."

"It's not a guess, I know it for certain. You never believed me, last time, I don't see why you would this time."

"What do you mean, last time? When have I not believed you?"

Why was he doing this? Why talk to him? It could never end well anyway. Hob was a fool for ever trying. He should have remained silent. He should remain silent.

Hob didn't answer. Ned stood up lazily, and paced around the room. He stretched. Hob would have killed to be able to stretch like that. He couldn't with the chains on. He wouldn't be freed from the chains until Ned was gone again. Ned wouldn't go until either Hob talk, or the day was over. Hob couldn't see much of the sun from his cell, but he knew that it was still early in the morning. It would be a long day today, and it would be a longer day tomorrow.

The man wouldn't relent, even after Hob spilled his guts. He would always come for more.

"You can, of course, remain silent and carry your secret to the grave. But why? Why would it matter?"

That was a good question. Would it even matter? Was this still a dream? Would Hob wake up again after they executed him? Or would he, somehow escape death by some machination of the Fates?

Ned stopped his pacing in front of Hob. He sat down on the ground, crossing his legs. His eyes searched for Hob's.

"Maybe I should switch my tactics. After all, there is someone that knows you better than I do, someone who could be privy to your secrets. I wonder how much he is like you, young Master Robyn."

Hob looked up, panicked and met Ned's malicious eyes. He could not. Robyn was supposed to die soon. What if Ned was what would befall him? Ned, who had made Hob last life a living hell before finally killing him?

"No…No I'll talk to you. I'll tell you what you want. I only want one thing in exchange, one small thing."

Ned smirked, and nodded.

"I want you to come back on the 5th of May, and give me the means to end my life."

"And in exchange, you promise to answer my every question truthfully?"

"Yes."

 ---

"Here, look, I have all the paperwork. See here, the official seal, and everything. It is a royal pardon for Sir Gadlen, in memory of his family's service to the Crown. Now I am here to take my father back home where he belongs. I demand that you open the cell."

It was Robyn's voice. Hob woke up, and for the first time in days? - weeks? - he rose to his feet in a clinging sound of chains.

He scratched his head. His whole body itched, from the dirt and from the lice that infested the prison.

Robyn, Robyn was here. What day was it? What month? Hob had no idea. He lost his sense of time somewhere before this cell. How long was it supposed to be, before Robyn's death?

The voices in the corridor were rising in anger now. Hob could hear Robyn's, though he could not discern what he was saying as the guard was shouting at the same time.

There was a sudden gurgling sound, and a loud thud.

"Fuck, Rob, what the hell?"

This was another voice, one that Hob knew without being able to find whose.

"We don't have time. The forgery is OK, but I'm not sure it's good enough to pass the inspection of a real high judge. Now we go forward, and fast, and everything is going to be alright."

Everything was not going to be alright, Hob already knew it. If it was May, it was going to go very wrong, very fast, he suspected.

"Help me! Let's drag him to the cell, we'll switch him with my father."

There was a rumbling noise in the corridor. Hob tried to see something through the small barred window in his door, to no avail.

Soon he heard the click of the lock opening, and Robyn and his friend Georges appeared at the door of Hob's cell.

As soon as he saw his father, Robyn let the arm of the guard down and rushed to his side.

"Father, how are you feeling? Are you well enough to walk? We are here to get you out."

Hob stood there, dumbstruck, as Georges laboriously dragged the guard inside the cell. As he got close, Hob could see the wide gash in the man's throat, surrounded by wet cooling blood. Georges dropped the corpse in the middle of Hob's small cell, and wiped his bloody hands on the tabard.

"I don't think we can use the guard's outfit without raising too many questions, Rob. It's drenched in blood, thanks to you. Why couldn't you knock him out instead?"

"I improvised! A blow to the head is not reliable anyway. I wanted him dead, not screaming like a banshee for everyone in the tower to hear. We don't need his outfit anyway. Let's stick to the plan."

"Stick to the plan? The plan never mentioned slitting throats."

"It did not mention not slitting one either. Now let's go."

Robyn reached out to Hob's elbow, carefully. It was the gentlest touch Hob had felt since…since he had hugged Robyn before going on his fake business trip, nearly a lifetime ago.

Hob could have told Robyn that he should never have come, that he should run for his life right now. His eyes fell on the dead guard's body. It was too late. The best he could do for his son was to be there with him, to try and take his place before he died.

"I can walk, though not very fast," he managed to utter, his voice hoarse with disuse and thirst.

"Great. Here, I brought some of your clothes from home so that you would look inconspicuous."

Robyn stood there awkwardly, as Hob divested himself from the filthy rags his clothes had become through his imprisonment. It was a shame putting on clean clothes while so dirty, but it felt good all the same. Hob felt like a human being for the first time since Robyn's last visit.

Robyn guided Hob out of the cell and down the corridor, as Georges locked the cell again with the guard's body inside.

Surprisingly, it went well at first. They met two guards at the entrance of the level of the prison, and Robyn convinced them that his royal pardon was legitimate and already approved, and look, do you think we could have gotten him out of his cell if everything was not properly certified?

The guards were not very scrupulous, and they were happy to opt for believing Robyn if it meant less work for them.

Everything would have been perfect, if they had not run into Father Edward at the main gate.

As usual, Hob noticed his voice before seeing him. He looked up, and Edward looked up at the same time from the register he was signing.

"What on earth is happening here?" The priest exclaimed immediately.

Hob heard Robyn swear under his breath. His son placed himself between Edward and Hob.

"What's happening is that we are bringing my father home after he was granted a royal pardon."

"I don't believe it for one second. This is most irregular. Any pardon should have been processed through the magistrate’s office. I was there less than an hour ago, to prepare my visit, and they told me the execution was going to proceed as scheduled. This is not a liberation, this is a break out."

At these words, Robyn and Georges snapped into action. The guards were not as fast in realising what was unfolding.

The boys lost no time, drawing their daggers and rushing toward the pair of guards at the door. In seconds, they were already too close for the soldiers' long weapons. Robyn plunged his blade into the hole under his opponent's armpit, ruthlessly efficient. Georges was blunter and crushed his guards nose with the hilt of his dagger before slashing through his throat.

Georges ran into the street, hailing someone Hob could not see. He rushed after the two others, and as he caught back to them, they were joined by another of Robyn's friends holding the reins of four horses.

For a moment, Hob thought it would work, against all hopes.

Then an arrow went through Robyn's throat as he was mounting on his horse.

Hob caught him in his arms as he fell.

"Go! Save yourselves!" He yelled at the others.

They didn't hesitate. The three of them mounted their horses and bolted.

Hob knelt on the ground with his son's body in his arms. The arrow had opened the carotid artery, blood was flowing fast from the wound. There was no hope. Robyn was not dead yet, but he would be in a minute. Hob held his son tightly against his chest. He kissed his brow.

"I love you, son. I am with you, don't be afraid. I will be with you all along. I love you."

He kept talking and caressing his son's temple until he could not feel his heartbeat anymore.

When he opened his eyes again, Edward was watching him.

"Today is the 5th of May 1608," Hob said. "and I failed everything I tried."

 ---

 Hob Gadling died for the second time on the 8th of May 1608, hanged.

---

For the masterpost and the next part, go here