#even to those who were unkind— he offered nothing but warmth

[hooned]

i need two business days to recover OH i just love sunghoon so much you guys do not understand :((

[wannabepoeticischiya]

throughout the heavens and eternities

What will you have me be? What would you have me do? Who will you want me to become? Tell me, and I’ll do it. I’ll do it… if it gets you to stay. If I can have you even for a moment longer, I’ll do it. You only need to tell me, and I’ll make it so.

ao3: throughout the heavens and eternities pairing: dan feng x f! reader genre: angst, romance wc: 6.2k status: one shot

He forgets sometimes, when he looks at her.

When she laughs so freely that it chases away every ember of spite and resentment, blankets him in warmth for the winters to come. When she looks his way with all the affection the universe could offer, like there was nothing greater than him in her eyes. That the world just melts away when she smiles at him, when she takes his hand in hers and her presence envelops him in every possible way.

He forgets it all.

That just like the rest of these mortals… she, too, will pass.

Dan Feng was never one to take into consideration of the fleeting lives of humans. Fickle that they were. Weak in the nicest way, stupidly stubborn in the worst. Considerate and brave, selfish and cowardly. Quick to move on, so he sees. Fearful to those in power in times of peace. Defiant if they’re hurt or if the people they care for are threatened.

They love greatly. Unconditionally. There existed no greater love than that of the love of a mortal. They loved inordinately unlike those blessed with immortality who loved in multitudes.

Perhaps it all came down to their affairs with their painfully limited time. They make the most of what they got, never idling for too long. They settle with things that make them happy, they keep it, take care of it so they’ll last.

Mortals love who their heart desires. Even if that love isn’t returned, they remain because there’s this little flickering hope that maybe one day it will. They look for people who make them happy, keep them… and take care of them so they will last.

And Dan Feng was the luckiest unluckiest Vidyadhara to be at the receiving end of a mortal’s affection.

In the wake of moonlight, he found himself looking at her—seeing the years pass her by in the blink of an eye. Her sight wasn’t as perceptive as it was all those years ago, sometimes she’d even mistake the tall house plant in the corner of the room for him. It didn’t make him love her any less. Her hair that once shone so lustrously under the artificial heavens of the Luofu had dimmed to a faint glow. Still, he would catch her figure even amidst ten thousand people. Her skin that was once as smooth as the starskiffs that sail the skies was now blemished and wrinkled, marred by time’s unkind treatment.

Yet he loved her more and more each passing day.

In his eyes… she remained the most beautiful creature in the infinite cosmos.

Dan Feng has lived for a thousand years, and he knows that he would live for another thousand more. It was his fate, his destiny, and he has come to accept that a long, long time ago.

He’d spend his years walking through the seconds like the water of a flowing river, akin to how the stars move across the sky, like the hexafleet travels to the ends of the universe: effortlessly, seamlessly, never succumbing to the funny tricks of time… but she wouldn’t.

Every day that he falls deeper and deeper in his adoration for her, marching in parallel was the sickening reminder that she won’t live to see his love to the end—that unlike him, she was so painfully mortal.

Because he forgets. Amidst all this momentary happiness, he forgets… that she, too, will die… just like how mortals do.

For so long, it felt strange to him. How do humans take it? To live with all these memories knowing… they wouldn’t last.

To exist only to perish.

You will leave me. You will pass, as all mortals do. You came into my life with nothing but your love to offer… yet when you leave, you’ll be taking everything with you. Scattering the lands with reminders of your existence that it remains, even after your death, for all the eternities to come. That I’ll live under the heavens without you. The sun will rise in the east and set in the west and I’ll look to you, only to find you nowhere. Through every passing lifetimes, I’ll look for you—and look and look and look. In every corner, every world, every planet formation… I’ll look.

Still, I know—that I wouldn’t be able to find you… because the place you’d gone to was unreachable.

And no power in this long life of mine could change that.

What will you have me be? What would you have me do? Who will you want me to become? Tell me, and I’ll do it. I’ll do it… if it gets you to stay. If I can have you even for a moment longer, I’ll do it. You only need to tell me, and I’ll make it so.

Dan Feng found it hilarious. He could have annihilated fleets of soldiers, wiped away civilizations, spent eternity conquering it all. Tie a lasso around the moon, bottle every star in the cosmos, hang the constellations in the sky in her image. All for her. I’d give you the sun, if you asked me. I’d give it all up, if you asked me. I’d give you all of the time if I could.

And should the Aeons decide to divide the universe… I’d gladly give you mine.

Yet he remained powerless when faced with time.

He could have had all the things in the plane of existence, and he would still watch her die.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

Her voice shattered the silence of the night, illuminating the sorrow in his heart. Dan Feng could never truly hide his disposition from her, even if her eyes were failing her. It always seemed that her soul knows him far better than he knows himself. And it hurts more to know that one day, he’ll wake up alone on this bed, desperately denying that she just went out to get some water or start the day early, yet he knows otherwise…

“You’re crying…” She’d whisper, gently wiping away the tears that rolled over the bridge of his nose. He was never one to cry, the only time he did was when he married her.

“I don’t want you to go.” He admitted painfully, blanketing the hand that cradled his cheek in warmth with his own. “Please, don’t leave. Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Of course, she knew, that her lover was asking for the impossible. She knew it all too well. There existed no moment in her life where the reminder of her transience didn’t come back to haunt her.

It was foolish to even begin to think it would be possible to live amongst a kingdom draped in eternity, whose citizens would live to see the end of time—acting as though she, herself, was capable of such a feat.

It was foolish yet deep in her heart, she always wanted it to be true. Perchance hoping that spending a lifetime beside him wasn’t such a far-fetched dream, after all. That she wouldn’t have to be forced to leave him, to depart when he wasn’t ready to let her go.  

But no amount of pretending could stop her from seeing the signs of her true nature.

No amount of laughter could cover the lines of age marring her face. No smile could wipe away the tricks of time, cover for all that she’d lost for every sun she sees. No declaration of love could turn back the seconds, take her back to a moment where she radiated brighter than the skies.

It didn’t matter if she was wife to their High Elder, if she served him well, loved him enough to last his entire lifetime—he would remain. Dan Feng will continue to live far longer after she has passed from the face of the planet. And even when he’s the last living entity to remember her name, she would never return. That he’d come to see many suns she could only dream of. See places she’d only seen in painted scrolls. Meet the many people that would come after her, maybe even share that space in his heart that she had once made a home of.

Her existence was as fleeting as the winter zephyrs. Nothing but a blink in their immortal lives. 

And that hurts.

To have met someone so perfect for you and still lose them.

He could have fought off wars, plagues, killers… yet he would still lose her. No matter what. Because as formidable as he is, Dan Feng could not stop the march of time.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere…” She would assure, still, he knew otherwise… and Dan Feng was certain that she did, too.

“I’ll make a way. No matter the distance, I will find you.”

---

Yet the world remained unfair.

Because the laws won’t bend for two people who are in love. Time won’t stop for people who are in love. And fate doesn’t deter for those who are in love.

Dan Feng, guilty of an unpardonable sin.

“Jing Yuan! Please, I beg you.” A shrill cry cut through the chaos: desperate, tired, sad.

In light of past merit, the sentence shall be commuted to molting rebirth and eternal banishment.

When the general looked over his shoulder, there she was. The woman his dear friend sacrificed everything for. A thousand years’ worth of merit, power, and freedom, all for the immortality of a woman fated to die early.

“Please allow me to be with him.”

If he had no heart, Jing Yuan would have dragged her to the dungeons himself—chain her with her lover or better yet, have her carry the weight of the sin his dear friend paid in exchange for her life.

The Arbiter General would watch her succumb to insanity in the shackling prison, see how her mortal mind would fare against the curse they call immortality. If her love for him is as pure as she makes it out to be that she could withstand seeing everything else disappear while she remains… unchanging.

Jing Yuan wanted to, because who was she in comparison to the High Elder of the Vidyadhara? The honorable Imbibitor Lunae, Dan Feng… who had loved her more than life itself. More than freedom, more than glory… more than anything else the universe could offer. 

It was Dan Feng’s life for hers…

She is the only living monument to his sacrifice—a reminder of how he loved her so ardently that he would rather live in exile, forced to rebirth, than not have her in any life at all.

It was his life for hers.

And there was nothing in this universe that would make Dan Feng regret his choice.

She didn’t know how she could’ve stomached staying rooted to where she stood. Watching the soldiers take him away, putting him in chains like some sort of criminal.

For them, it was a heavy offense—to have wanted to live for a little longer because so it seemed, a life devoid of another was not a life worthy of living at all.

But they wouldn’t understand that. They never will. What use is the thought of loss among those destined to never succumb to it?

Dan Feng knew. It was taboo. Forbidden. Frowned upon by the Ten-Lords Commission—still, in his heart, her life was a treasure he’d suffer for just to keep.

“You don’t want a silent lover.” She remembers him saying these words the night she professed her love to him. Cradled under a thousand lanterns, a silly little mortal girl laid her heart open for him to break.

She figured that if it were to shatter to a thousand pieces because of him, then it’s fine. It would be alright. She’ll just pick up the pieces and live the rest of her days knowing her feelings reached him. It would be alright… eventually.

Even still, even as he knew that the two of them could never be—he remained hesitant to throw away the fervent affection she had so freely given to him.

“You shouldn’t.” Dan Feng was always quick to turn down all things fleeting that it always seemed like he’s got a stick shoved so far up his behind that it did all his talking for him.

But she remembers smiling at his words.

Sentiments plunged into the depths of the frozen seas yet were as gentle as the zephyrs sung in the vernal freshness of spring.

“You’re right.” She said, “I don’t want a silent lover.”

In the faintest slivers of silver light, she saw the reflection of his heart crack in those pools of sapphires. How strange, she thought back then. She was the one confessing… so why did he look so hurt when she accepted his unspoken rejection?

Dan Feng, no matter what point in his long life, could never truly find himself lying to her.

“I want you.”

And it was in that moment that he realized just how greatly mortals could love. How their love could never be measured. That they don’t cherish in ifs and buts, their affection is rooted in even ifs, and in spite ofs. If he would ask her ‘how long will you want me?’, ‘until when will you love me?’, he reckons that she won’t answer in lengths of time ‘for a thousand years, and a thousand more after that’, those words would never leave her mouth—and even if they did, they would be lies.

In the stutter of a breath, clear as the oceans of the waterscape, he saw the answers in her soft smile, etched upon her kind face, saturated in her gentle warmth. As long as you want me to.

“I want all of you. Your silence, your laughs, your smile. I want your touch, I want your soul, I want every second of your life—until you’d be sick of me, until you’re tired of me. There’s nothing under the heavens and through eternities I want more than you.”

Mortals love who their heart desires. Even if that love isn’t returned, they remain because there’s this little flickering hope that maybe one day it will. They love greatly. Unconditionally. There existed no greater love than that of the love of a mortal. They loved inordinately unlike those blessed with immortality who loved in multitudes.

“It’s true.” She whispers, albeit so faintly—tethered in every shade of hope, riddled in all the colors of acceptance for an answer yet to come. “I don’t long for a love blanketed in silence, my life is far too fleeting for such a luxury. But if stillness is where you are at peace—if it is all you have to offer, I’ll show you that I, too… am fluent in the language of silence.”

Dan Feng knew then that there will never be another creature that could rival her. No matter how long he’s lived, or he will live, there can never be another like her.

In this infinite vastness, how lucky was he… that she was right there, that she loved him of all people. In this space, in this rift in time… he had her, and she had him.

And in all the lives he’s lived, there was nothing that could compare to the happiness she’s brought to him.

Perhaps that’s why humans are fated for transience, that these glorious creatures are fated to die far earlier than the rest of the universe… so that they may never have a chance to fall from grace, that they may never suffer the horrors of eternity.

But Dan Feng tried to be greedy, once… just once.

For one mortal, for one human. Just once. Just this one time for his one love, for the one thing—one person he wanted more than anything. Only once did he ask the heavens a favor, this one time that he wanted to defy all else and choose the one person who made him whole.

Just one time… out the many times he could have taken it all, given it all up, but he didn’t.

Turns out, it only took his home one time, too… to forsake him. Have him stripped away from her and never to be seen.

Damned to rot in that godforsaken place until the ends of his days, moments in time that she dreaded to see—even when she was still hindered by the limits of her life.

Just one time, he wanted to selfish… and he is repaid in cruelty.

And the lover he gave his life for, descended into desperation at his loss… drowned in madness.

She remained in their home where he was most present, where his memories flourished, and with everything came him. Hell dressed in heaven’s clothing, because the General didn’t allow her to be anywhere else. Not on her deathbed nor the space beside her husband. A fitting punishment none would question.

A harsh slap to her face—a reminder that her life came at the price of his—that she was damned to a world without him. Forced to live a life Dan Feng had loved her in, fated to die in a universe he’d left her in.

Dan Feng’s demise reached her ears a few hundred years later.

He perished alone. In the depths of a cold dungeon. His soul lost amidst the stars.

And Jing Yuan would make it his life’s mission to shackle her into this world, never permitting her to die, forbidding her to leave.

Iterating the words over and over again, your life’s a blessing, a hard-fought, heavy-priced blessing, he would say it so much she began to believe he was doing it for his own sake. To remind himself that he could not kill her, that in doing so would anger his old friend, that it would render his sacrifice to ruin.

But she took one look at him, tired of all this suffering.

He would not let her leave, he would not let her die, and in doing so… he was not letting her live.

"Take a good look at me, General. See how the gift of life is when all else is gone."

Sunken eyes, dimmed to a fault. The woman she once was had long despaired at the loss of Dan Feng.

To be able to be with him until the end of his days was the sole purpose of her immortality. To have her live out the rest of eternities basking in his love, and him in hers.

Yet here she was, breathing in a world where all that she loves had ceased to exist.

Still, Jing Yuan would not relent.

In his head, he repeats the thoughts that if it hadn’t been for her, Dan Feng would still be alive. "He was my friend as well, don't tell me that it was only you who'd lost someone that day."

Angered and frustrated, she yelled at the white-haired man. "You have everything, General. How could you possibly fathom what it's like. For you, who's lived a thousand years before me and will live a thousand more after I've gone... what would you know? What do you know of how I feel? He was all that I have. He was everything. We were happy as we were, and you took him away. You passed the decree and watched them shackle him like a criminal, watched as they locked him up and took him away from me. You dare speak so brazenly about loss because you've never drowned in an ocean of it, lived your every waking moment with it following you around. I ask you again, look at me. See what life is like when everything has already gone."

Her words strike true.

Jing Yuan would never understand what it meant to lose someone, all the people he loved were as endless as the stars in the sky—yet it did not merit that none of them grew dim with time.

"What right did you have that it was deemed just for you to sacrifice countless of lives?"

In the wake of her grief, she broke through the shackling prison, mindlessly believing that its walls still held the lover she had lost a hundred years ago.

“Dan Feng, my love?” She’d whisper to the darkness as another body falls to the ground with loud thuds, lifeless. “I’m here… where are you?” The patters of her footfalls bounced from one bloodied prison cell to another.

“Let’s go home.”

“Dan Feng? The lanterns… I’ve seen them again. Come back to me… I beg you.”

“Please… don’t—don’t go where I can’t follow.”

‘The Mad Elder’, they call her. ‘The Weeping Widow’ was another. ‘Prison Breaker’ could have been one… if the person she set to free had not perished.

And for every reminder of her lonely soul, she took a life for it.

When she saw the empty chains, his cold cell, the remnants of his clothing—the only thing left of his existence—her screams echoed through the prison, falling desperately on her knees as she clutched the remainders of his life. Her breaths came in stutters as a waterfall of silver fell from her dimmed eyes.

Her fingers sunk into the cold concrete, clawing at it until her hands bled, as though it would help soothe the pain, to cease the never-ending darkness in her soul.

It never did.

"The lives of thieves! Don’t twist the truth.” She snarled.

“They were not yours to punish.” Jing Yuan spat back.

“And we were yours?” The woman scoffed, dragging a hand over her face as she looked to him with angered eyes brimmed with insanity. “What right did you have to take away our lives yet fight so valiantly to let sinners keep theirs?"

It wasn’t fair, she believed. "Did we not deserve to live, too, Jing Yuan? Were our lives nothing compared to the hundred thousand oath breakers that came before us?"

"They screamed for mercy!"

"And where were theirs’ when I begged for mine? For my husband's? For the two things I wanted to keep: him and his life! I asked for nothing more. No riches nor gold. Tell me, where was mercy when I asked for it?"

Jing Yuan had no words left to speak. He was tired, and she had reached the ends of her sanity.

“He’s never coming back.” He spat bitterly.

Those words tasted foul, a bitter truth that even now… he could still not bring himself to accept.

“That’s not true.” She shook her head in desperation, as though if she did it enough times, the General’s words would rescind, and she’d find her lover back home… back where he usually stays: on that bridge where she told him she loves him, the study, beside the window… anywhere, so long as she could find him.

Jing Yuan wanted to believe her words, that Dan Feng was not truly gone… that he was just out there, waiting to be found. He knew better…

The General raised his head to look at the crying woman, muttering endlessly to herself. Dan Feng. My love. The lanterns. Come back. Please. Don’t go. Don’t take him. Dan Feng. Come home. Where are you. I’m right here. I can’t find you. Come back. Don’t go.

“I’ll grant your request.”

Dan Feng is gone, he knew that. Jing Yuan knew that the moment he decreed his sentence. He knew better… but she didn’t.

“Go. Leave. Find him if you can, and when you do… don’t return. Live out the eternities far away from here.”

And after that, Jing Yuan never saw her again.

The only living monument to dear friend’s sacrifice—a reminder of how he loved her so ardently that he would rather live in exile, forced to rebirth, than not have her in any life at all. Dan Feng’s life for hers.

The woman the Arbiter General watched succumb to insanity in comforts of her home, saw how her mortal mind fared against the curse they call grief—to have been left in a world where another has gone.

Her love for him was as pure as she made it out to be that she couldn’t withstand seeing everything else disappear while she remains… unchanging.

Because what was the universe in comparison to the wife of the High Elder of the Vidyadhara? The honorable Imbibitor Lunae, Dan Feng… who had loved her more than life itself. More than freedom, more than glory… more than anything else the universe could offer. 

It was Dan Feng’s life for hers…

Because beyond her, nothing else was worth having.

She looked to the ends of the universe to find him, fragments of him scattered across the stars, pieces of him held by galaxies, even just the faintest warmth from the passing comets... anything. Because what cruelty had she made that it beckoned the heavens to punish her to live a life that promised solitude, a life stripped of happiness, live a long, lonely life devoid of him.

So, she scavenged the universe for magic that could bring him back, looked far and wide for a cure to her heartache, a cease to her sadness. A chance, a small inkling chance to feel his touch, a glimpse of his eyes, even a whisper of his voice.

There is a soul binder at the ends of the galaxy, find him and you will see your beloved again.

Fu Xuan was not one for lies yet she was not known for her truths either.

The soul binder she spoke of was the one the mad elder had sought, coincidentally stumbling—rather, piercing a sword straight through his chest.

"You fight good, lady!” He smiles, patting away the dirt that gathered on the base of his shoulders as though he had not just bled to death not a moment ago.

She looked to the man beside the once dead opponent, watching as he finished chanting a mumbled prayer before taking a huge swig of his liquor.

"How..." She breathed, stumbling closer to where the two of them struggled to their feet.

She’s seen countless of madness in this long, unfortunate life of hers. A talking trash can, ghosts of the past, the collision of galaxies, stars dying, a dragon—but not such sorcery as what he had done.

"Whoa there, lady. You're from the Alliance, aren't ya?" The man found his footing, blinking a couple of times to get the haze of death out from his eyes.

"For someone who's lived with immortals this sure seems like a party trick, yeah? No need to feign amazement. How many times has my friend here brought me back? Was it six? Seven?"

Friend? Was it not he who they call soul binder?

"Eight.”

She looked to the one who spoke, a gentle soothing tone so it seemed: the drunkard who muttered the enchantments.

How could such a foolish man hold that much power?

Perhaps he saw the accusation in her eyes, still… he was kind enough to ignore it.

“First was the Herrscher who threw you straight through an asteroid. Then you got stabbed by the local drunk. Assassinated for not paying your debts, his head was cut clean off, you see. Another was a spear right through the chest. The swordsman from Xianzhou a few decades back, the one with the white hair. Then his friend came to smooth things over, but you attacked him, that's General Jing Yuan now, I believe. And then the High Elder Vidyadhara because you looked at his wife funny and now..."

Before the man could finish his words, his friend’s joyous tune cut his thoughts short.

"That's a lot of people from where you hail, missy. You'd think I'd learn after getting my life taken from me by one of them. Seems I got a knack for baiting them lot from Xianzhou." He laughs boisterously, like the matter of his life getting swiped from under his nose was a hilarious story fit for every stranger he passes.

His friend thought otherwise. The man who brought the laughing fellow took a good look at the woman who stood before them, quite possibly assessing the magic behind it all.

She remained unchanging in her behavior, still so stiffly holding onto her weapon. But her eyes shone with a flicker of hope, dim, faint in the kindest words... yet it was there, fighting desperately against the ties holding them in the depths of her soul.

Then he realized.

Amidst all the chaos, he was bound to forget. It had happened so long ago, and he was fortunate enough to have taken hold of that memory before it slipped. Still, he questioned how he could have, when he fought every star and sacrificed his very life to try and bring back his friend.

He elbowed the joyous man in his gut, hitting the spot where a spear was once tangled in his guts.

"Ow! What the hell—"

The same friend who was sent to the borders of death…

"You're the wife of the High Elder, aren't you?"

…by the Vidyadhara High Elder.

Wife… of you, my love. How long has it been since someone has last called me that? Since you had called my name. I don’t want to admit it, and I think I’d die if I ever do—but it hurts.

My love… it hurts.

I don’t remember you anymore. Not your face, not your voice… not even your touch. Still, I know that you’re the only one I have ever wanted yet, you were taken away from me.

And all the time in the plane of existence couldn’t fill the hole you left behind.

"How did you bring him back?" The woman ignored his question, eyes remaining on the man who, not nearly ten minutes ago was sprawled on the floor swimming in his blood, and now was overflowing with joy as though he had never been struck in the first place.

Her voice came in gentle whispers, at first. Yet when the two strangers remained silent, her voice took on desperation. "Tell me this instant! How did you get him back!"

"Tell me!"

"You're the Mad Elder." There was no joy in his words, how could he bring himself to laugh when this woman was the reason he nearly kicked the bucket after cheating death six times.

"How did you bring him back!" The woman took hurried steps towards the two men, pointing the blood-stained sword in their direction, eyes laden with the frenzied desire to know what sorcery could resurrect the dead.

It was him. The man who could bring it all back. The one told among the galaxy to have magic that could defy the laws of the Aeons. Spoken so highly of by Fu Xuan. The trickster who she would pay his weight in gold if he could help her.

“Please, we mean no harm.” They yielded, fearful of her wrath and that of the man whom they’ve yet to know was the reason for her unyielding tenacity—the one who had already perished a long time ago.

Her heart ached at the reminder of his memory. The way he must have stood above these younglings many moons ago because they dared to disrespect her, to taint her honor—that he’d be damned if he let anyone shame her. He was always so uptight, that one. His entire presence demanded attention, and the mention of his name could have armies scurrying back to whence they came.

How wretched of her to sow fear into their hearts with the seeds of her lover’s legacy.

"Could you bring back a man who lost his soul?” She asks softly, lowering her weapon, hearing it graze the stoney path.

“I don't need you to bring him back eight times.”

For so long she dug up the universe in search for magic that could bring him back. Looked far and wide for a cure to her heartache, a cease to her sadness. A chance, a small inkling chance to feel his touch, a glimpse of his eyes, even a whisper of his voice.

“Just once."

Just once, and it would be enough. Once, just one time… not ten nor twenty… please, just one time.

The man looked at her in sorrow like there could exist no other creature as unfortunate as her, that he wouldn’t wish her life on his or anyone else.

Because to live in a world where another has gone, is a fate far crueler than death.

He spoke no words, yet she knew his silence meant no. And that alone answered all the questions in her head.

She felt tears pooling in her eyes. How long has it been, truly? To have been faced with the grueling reality that he was long gone. Dan Feng. Far beyond the hands of any magic. Out of reach from even the greatest of spells.

Seems that the Arbiter General was right.

Dan Feng is gone.

And he was never coming back.

No matter how many times she circled this infinite universe over and over and over again, she would never find him.

And no power in all the cosmos could ever change that.

---

So why is she met with a man who looked so much like him?

His eyes were as bright as the skies of a Xianzhou she knew so well, as sharp as the blades that she used to cut all those who threatened to hurt him. His hair that fell like an obsidian waterfall over his slender figure. Horns that stretched far above the horizons of his forehead, as though they wanted nothing but to reach the heavens above.

And for what seemed like an eternity underneath the heavens, the voices in her head grew silent, speaking in the language he knew oh so well.

But his soul was different.

Her eyes might deceive her, shown her this creature bearing the same face to soothe her spiralling grief. He might have the same features—the mirror image of a man she knew once upon a time… but now, her heart knew better.

Yet it did not stop its traitorous orchestra, a hymn of joy… a song for peace for a love once lost, now found.

After all these years, no matter how many people I meet, the suns that have passed me by... I still love you.

“I’m not him.”

His voice shattered the silence of twilight, illuminating the sorrow in her heart.

Of course, she knew that.

More than anyone else could ever fathom. She knew that. Above all else, that much… she understood.

She was always an open palm for him to read, even if his memories of her were long gone. It always seemed that his soul knows her far better than she knows herself.

And it hurts more to know that this time, she’ll wake up alone on their bed, finally coming to terms that he was never coming back, that looking for him in this man was pointless because he doesn’t exist anymore.

You left me. You passed… quite strange a thing for someone like you to do. You came into my life with nothing but your love to offer… yet when you left, you took away everything with you. Scattering the lands with reminders of your existence that it remains, even after your death, for all the eternities to come. That I’ll live under the heavens without you. The sun will rise in the east and set in the west and I’ll look to you, only to find you nowhere. Through every passing lifetime, I’ll look for you—and look and look and look. In every corner, every world, every planet formation… I’ll look.

At the end of the day, when I reach a standstill, I’ll know—that I wouldn’t be able to find you, not in him or in anywhere else in this infinite nothingness because the place you’d gone to was… unreachable.

And no power in this cursed long life of mine could change that.

But what will you have me be? What would you have me do? Who will you want me to become?

Tell me, and I’ll do it.

I’ll do it… if it gets you to come home.

If I can have you even for a moment longer, I’ll do it.

You only need to tell me, and I’ll make it so.

She found it hilarious. The galaxy could have fallen, stars fading in the wake of her grief, spent eternity collecting the dust to reform him. Tie a lasso around the suns, bottle every planet in the cosmos, hang the constellations in the sky in his image. All for him.

I’d give you the cosmos, if you asked me. I’d give it all up, if you asked me. I’d give you all of the time if I could—even just a little bit of it, if I could.

And should the Aeons decide to divide the universe… you could have mine.

“He’s gone.”

She knew that better than anyone.

But if you came to me, with a face I have not seen… a voice… I had not heard, a touch I have yet to feel.

I would still know you.

Even if lifetimes separated you from me, I would still feel you.

Somewhere out there, throughout the heavens and eternities, between the constellations and stardust, in every rebirth and reform, in death and destruction… know that once upon a time, there existed you and me.

I was writing this while making a script for a report >< and I had to type very carefully to make sure I didn't accidentally make writing progress on the wrong document 😭 buuuut, here's my year-long grief of not getting imbibitor lunae on his first run in hsr (I quit because of that 👹) This is longer than my case study 💀

if you get the references in this, I love you (that series has broken my heart to a thousand pieces)

[oneluckydragon]

once again barging into your askbox to talk about your girlies because i had that human!echo design + the additional tag tidbits in my mind since yesterday, and its driving me up the wall.

anywho, i more or less went through it in my tags, but the whole idea that a lot of the darkrai traits carried over to her human self, and that her body on its *own* feels broken, misshapen and almost monstrous in nature which makes echo in return feel dysphoric in return and combined with the amnesia is just genius.

looking down at your own body, your hands, your face, *everything*, and it screams of imperfections you don't know why they are there. the feeling that something in your body is wrong, it feels irregular. like being shoved into a compact box that hardly fits your silhouette, despite texts and mythos from millenias ago confirming that this is how a 'human' is supposed to look. how *echo* is supposed to look. yet she still has this feeling in her heart, this feeling and sensation that something is wrong with her. but she has no idea what could be the reason for it. she is human, is she not? did humans feel like this as well? but deep down, a part of her knows. whatever she is, it isnt human. it's a twisted attempt. a monstrosity that bears similarities, but is not what it was made to look after. just a shattered reflection that was glued and tethered together to represent a species that is no longer here.

and the traits that carried over are just the tip of it all, because theres just something about feeling this inexplicable darkness in your heart, this feeling of pent up resentment and vitriol, a will and a need for all life to *cease*, and you have no idea where it all came from, which adds further to the dysphoric feeling. like echo's own heart is folly, that there is something *wrong* with it, and it makes her see red. these sort of emotions and ideas of subterfuge that she does not know how she thinks of and resonates with so perfectly, how she bears her teeth against a world she has no idea how she arrived in strike further in her heart, because she does not know where such instincts and thoughts come from. was this always something that came commonly to her? were these feelings that wanted nothing but to ensure that the world will feel her vitriolic rage always a part of her? a ceaseless beating parasite that would only make herself harder to be with?

and of course, speaking of being with someone, the bond she had with grovyle before their separation absolutely destroys me.

grovyle being this mere young treecko, simply going through his 'daily' whims to survive in an unkind world, and coming across someone who could only be described as.. broken. someone who does not fit in this world. echo did not fit in this world. but grovyle was stubborn, and he made her fit. he made her feel loved. feel cared for. and in return, he changed her. to be loved is to be changed, so on and so forth. he gave her purpose in a world that offered none. and in return, she wanted to make sure he'll feel the warmth of the sun he longed forever. it's the least she could do. it's the least that the thorny burden she deemed herself to be could do.

and knowing that she felt deep guilt for reasons unbeknownst to her at that time will only help further with her now-existing grief and guilt as an umbreon. knowing that at one point, she covered an entire world in darkness, that she was vile and cruel to all life for the fun of it, and that she might have deprived many pokemon of a better life and left an everlasting nightmare on those who did not deserve it.. it makes her feel sick.

because it hurts. it hurts to know that someone like her can exist, redeemed or not. it hurts to know that the poison in her blood seeps into the earth, that it just makes it all the while clearer of how much she was but a product of inexplicable evil. killing the world around her even when she does not intend to, and just how much she was better off at being left on her own to perish. grovyle and sora, big as his heart was, did not deserve to put up with this mess. they did not deserve to know that someone they care for would easily break them apart had they not delicately and patiently nursed the evil away from her heart, and that she really is just what her previous incarnation had the powers to control to its whims.

a nightmare. one that pitifully looks back at its existence and knows that it does not bring anything good with it. and most nightmares at least have the decency to go away when you wake up, echo has to bear the idea that she is a nightmare that not even sora is aware of. something that she cannot open her eyes to, because she does not see echo as a nightmare. none of the people who love her see her as a nightmare, even when she's so desperately thinks that she is.

(and i already said it before, but i think gaia and echo might find some comfort in one another the same way she'll do with erida, given how they both doomed (or nearly doomed) a world in the mass reign and destruction their past incarnations' wakes, and the woes they'll share and how they'll try to cope with everything that follows. it ain't easy moving on knowing that you wanted to destroy the very ground you walked on for whatever reasons you may have...)

@s1nn0hh istg!! HOW!!! ARE YOU!!! DOING THIS?!?!

The descriptions you provided about Grovyle and Echo's bond. The way you perfectly built upon Echo's dysphoria and somehow managed to put my thoughts directly into words!!!

Human!Echo lives in my brain CONSTANTLY because they are so broken. They are wrong and they know it. They are something that should not exist. And they are so angry at everyone and everything. And yet here is someone (Grovyle) that loves them. That cares for them. That sticks by their side in all things and believes in them even in spite of their rage and fire and loathing and scorn. Someone that forgives them for their lashing out and violent pain. And all of that love from Grovyle slowly starts to change Echo.

And that love follows Echo into her next life and spurs her healing. Without Grovyle's love and care, I truly think Echo wouldn't have stayed with Sora. Echo wouldn't have had the willingness or patience to care about her, to start loving, to start wishing and hoping and feeling. And you get this, Sinnoh. YOU GET THIS!!!

You understand SO MUCH about how Echo feels as an Umbreon. The weight of the guilt she carries knowing the full truth about her past, over having the entire picture of her rage and failure. Of the way she'd closed her heart to the world and tried to burn it down. And how much she wants to take responsibility and work at becoming someone better not for the sake of her own redemption, but for the sake of her friends. To pay back the love they shared with her, the love she feels she did not deserve. The love she wants to PROVE meant something.

And gosh!! Gaia and Echo! I really need to do a deep-dive on these two and send it to you sometime. I could rant about them, I just KNOW it. The guilt they both harbor. The urge to right past wrongs. The love they've learned to carry. AHHH! I love Gaia SO MUCH and Echo would definitely find comfort in her. I can confirm they would be very good friends because it's always a reassurance to know that you aren't alone. That someone with similar experiences is in your corner. And both Gaia AND Erida can be that for her. <3

[necrosin]

a corpse of a place / a ghost of a girl —— there is no certainty nor reason nor certain reason, she is simply here and present and cast in golden light that feels too warm against her skin, like sunlight filtering through paper-thin white curtains, like sunlight peaking through dusty window panes, as if she were fading —— away ——

the wall is high and not so high, after all, easily reachable yet so very far. the woods are safe, now, no nobodies to linger and lurk in its shadows. they are simply dark and cool and seemingly endless but a lighthearted schoolboy and his companions could wander through them / even the ghost-girl could traverse them well enough. there is no reason why she remains within ( or rather, atop ) the towering walls of twilight town except that —— except that ——

difficult to conceptualize. difficult to put to thought. difficult to perceive wholly and fully. this, or you?

she : who is nothing and shall become nothing and will always be ——

circular thoughts. tangential thoughts. there is that rotting roof and those creaking walls and she can imagine it with ease, how the third step always whined, how the doors could do nothing but shriek. that room / her sham of a room / pure white and covered and papered in shattered fragments that she had pieced together, bit by bit. that room, that place, where the pitiable non-hero ( but he had been, but he is, he's just —— ) sat before her and who she told, voice soft and carrying and trying to be gentle, that he was never supposed to exist.

unkind words / she had tried / but had she, truly? always, always she had been guiding him towards oblivion, towards a lack of existence separate from the lightened hero trapped in the dark / she had not hesitated for all that, to her, @heartinhands seemed like a falling star. ephemeral, entrancing, never meant to last, but deep inside there had been that quiet hope : that he would carry on, still.

that he would : appear, real and whole and individual, as if out of nowhere at all. as if she had pulled him from memories and made him real once more, as if by mere thought she could bring him forth, as if she had been hoping and lonely and WHEN HAD SHE NOT BEEN LONLEY, AFTER ALL?

it takes a moment to register. and then another. warmth around her shoulders, a steadiness near her / against her / a touch that makes her shoulders tighten for all of a moment / a presence that registers as NON-THREATENING with such immediacy that for a moment she finds herself confused with the instinct. as if pulled out of her memories, ❝ —— roxas, ❞ surprise lilts her tone. she feels somehow caught, something twisting in her chest, strange and ill-shapen and odd. she hadn't expected / hadn't known to foresee / but then : roxas loves twilight town, doesn't he?

she wonders what he's thinking about, to touch her so casually, to look over the towering walls of twilight town and over and over and over to that haunted place. haunted, still, because while the wraith no longer wandered those halls, there were still ghosts that lingered in every corner. every room. every last place they had touched.

for a moment, she doesn't know what to say. can't offer heartening words, eternally incapable of such a paradoxical thing. she wonders if roxas recalls what she does with such clarity. supposes that he does, surely / but he's too kind to her to hold it against her, isn't he? he's bright in her vision / everyone is / a falling star in the dead of night. ❝ i was thinking... ❞ she looks back to that barely visible roof and wonders over physicality and existence.

roxas existed, and it had been mournfully wondrous to see, and she —— had not, had NOT, had not in any sense of the word and he had been —— a falling star —— and NOW there is his arm and there is him and there is her / a ghost / and a house full of ghosts, weeping and screaming in sorrow.

a ghost of a place / a corpse of a girl.

❝ that... even though you weren't meant to exist, ❞ can a ghost learn kindness? is it still unkind, to repeat those words? WHY WOULD YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT... EVEN IF IT WAS TRUE? a star, a world, a meteor falling and burning. roxas, roxas, who looks at her with a face that is a mirror / isn't a mirror / who looks at her and is that something pensive, on his face?

everything would be easier, would everyone just hate her.

❝ ... i'm happy you exist, ❞ can something such as happiness exist within her? ( yes / no / certainly ... not : but hadn't it been happiness when he had come for her, when the hero had come for her? ) his arm is warm against her shoulders / and it's a wonder he can touch her / can reach her / that there's anything to touch at all, and he's so —— perhaps a falling star cannot encompass it all. perhaps it is more apt to say that he is simply a boy who wants to exist. WHO DOES EXIST.

and isn't that more profound than a falling star?

❝ i'm... happy to have met you. ❞

[ wrap ]  –  for the sender’s muse to casually wrap their arms around the receiver’s neck and lean on their shoulder from behind.

[bloodytwine]

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MEN’S WRITING AND WOMEN’S WRITING:

WHAT THE GUYS WRITE:

Zelen came charging in like a damned fool.

Zelen’s practice sword came down in two quick strikes, both horizontal, and he was fast...Pelenus gave him that.

Nevertheless, the boy’s strikes were obvious, the blade raised too high, exposing the chest and armpits. He knew Zelen would be killed that way.

Pelenus did not know who had first instructed the boy, but it was clear he was going to have to teach this young man his first real lesson.

Zelen charged in again with an overhead chop.

Pelenus stepped to his own right while deflecting the wooden blade downwards, turning his own practice blade inwards to have Zelen’s sword slide down it through sheer momentum. Pelenus then brought up the hilt of his own blade, smacking Zelen right between the eyes with the balled end. He stepped forward as he did so, stepping around Zelen’s right foot with his own, and the boy toppled backwards to land heavily upon his back as the force of the blow plus his new imbalance threw out his feet from under him.

Zelen looked up at Pelenus from the greensward, the boy’s eyes taking a moment to focus from the dazing blow.

It was clear more instruction was needed, more and more until the boy was ready for an actual battle, or there would be nothing left of young Zelen after a real fight, nothing left save a shallow grave.

He did not want the boy’s head to end up on an orc pike.

“You have to read your opponent first,” said Pelenus. “You can’t just rush in.”

He offered his hand, and Zelen clutched it, the boy standing tall seconds later.

“Yes, Master,” said Zelen.

WHAT THE GALS WRITE:

Zelen charged in.

Their practice blades clashed for mere seconds, and then Zelen found himself on his back upon the greensward.

He was dazed at first, but as his eyes focused, his gaze settled upon Pelenus’ proffered hand.

Zelen reached forth and took his master’s hand, but that grip was not unkind. No, he could feel a strength in warmth there, a softness in touch that belied the master’s normally gruff exterior, but there was also steel there, a firmness that made Zelen want to cave in and relent to whatever his master commanded.

Zelen stood tall, not wishing to look weak before the man he wanted to become.

“You have to read your opponent first,” said Pelenus. “You can’t just rush in.”

Zelen’s chest sank in at those words. Was his master displeased, disgusted, or disappointed?...He wanted none of those possibilities to be true. No, he wanted to—no—he needed to have Pelenus’ acceptance.

He could see a fire in the older man’s ocean-blue eyes, a yearning for something...but for what? Zelen’s heart raced as he foundered in the deep waters of that longing gaze, and he knew right then what he wanted was more than just instruction in basic sword play from his master. No, he wanted something a little more advanced, something unthinkable and forbidden, but there all the same.

He could feel that burning in his heart, an excitement that twitched up from his young and virile loins. It surprised him, the force of it, but it was not unwanted, and this was even more surprising.

No, he had never felt this way before about anyone, certainly not an older man.

This was...

He tried to fight it, but these new feelings had already planted in the fertile soil of his young heart...Oh, yes. Perhaps his new master would teach him his first real lesson.

“Yes, Master,” said Zelen.

[karanna1]

AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for. 

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder. 

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it. 

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.” 

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...” 

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone... 

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words. 

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely. 

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away. 

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.” 

At last she admits it. 

In the quietest whisper. 

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her. 

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully.  “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

[primasveraas-writing]

i've heard them calling my name

Anakin Skywalker faces five people after the second great betrayal of his lifetime.

Inspired in part by @naberiie's "thirteen minutes".

WORD COUNT: 1803

XXX

1

Anakin Skywalker isn’t dead, but he is dying.

It hurts, and he is used to the pain, the ache in his lungs, and the throbbing in what remains of his limbs. He’s used to the grief and the guilt and the sorrow.

What’s new is the light flooding him, overwhelming his mind and senses. What’s new is love, the feeling returned after an eternity of bitterness and hatred. What’s new is his son, so much smaller than Anakin in his mechanical suit, dragging him through the hangar, and the determination and compassion that flow from him; Luke the bright epicenter of his suddenly recentered galaxy.

But dying sounds like a horrible, raspy breath, and the wheeze of a failing ventilator.

And love sounds like: “I won’t leave you here. I’ve got to save you.”

Dying is dimness creeping in at the corners, quickly enough to scare Anakin, to rush his goodbyes.

Love is the blue of his son’s eyes, and the kindness shining in his face that reminds Anakin so much of Padmé.

He thinks of his wife, and of his daughter who he never knew, and of his son, and he mourns them all in a second, because the darkness is closing in, and his consciousness is fleeing him as is air, and again Luke desperately promises not to leave him, and Anakin exhales for the last time and his son’s voice is the last thing he knows.

2

There is incredible darkness and Anakin does not know nor think until a voice calls out his name and recognition blossoms with a burst of light flooding the void.

“Obi-wan?”

There is shame, deep and consuming because Anakin has betrayed his son, but he was a brother long before he was a father, and he has ruined Obi-wan with no chance of salvation like there is for Luke, and-

“Master, I’m so sorry- so very, very-”

Obi-wan says his name again, and tells him that there is more, that there can be forgiveness and immortality, and Anakin wants but he does not deserve, but he wants to see Luke again and meet his daughter and Anakin has always been selfish despite the Jedi’s teachings.

And if Obi-wan is truly offering him this chance- Obi-wan, with his fair logic and pragmatism- then maybe he does indeed deserve this, even if all others, Anakin included, do not think the same.

“I failed you, Master.”

Silence. Then, the light ripples, and there is his master, and he is smiling gently, and he shakes his head.

“And I failed you, Anakin. You needed more from me than I ever offered, and I am sorry for that.”

“After all I’ve done-”

“You did what no other Jedi could, in the end, and that is as the Force wills it.”

“I wish-” Anakin’s voice catches. “I wish it were different.”

“As do I.” Obi-wan looks sad now, and that is familiar, but he opens his arms and steps closer to Anakin. They embrace, there is love and comfort between them, things that Anakin has not allowed himself to miss in thirty long years.

When they part, Obi-wan regards him for a long moment, then speaks again.

“I still have much to teach you,” he says slowly, and Anakin nods. This has not changed, even now. “You will see others who have missed you as I have. You will find forgiveness and anger in unexpected places, from those living and dead, but, my dear padawan,” Obi-wan smiles now, a true contentedness painting his features, “you will know peace again. That is what you deserve.”

3

His mother is before him in the emptiness, as if from a dream.

Anakin Skywalker is decades old and a Jedi Knight and a war hero and a tyrant and a Sith Lord and evil personified and the Chosen One, and he sees his mother and runs to her.

Her embrace is warm and tight, and he knows her from the way his head buries into her neck, and the length of her arms around him, and the faint smell of spice on her tunic, and every inflection of her voice as she murmurs his name, and calls him my son, and says how I’ve missed you, and he sobs into her, pulling them both to their knees as he does.

“Mom,” he gasps, and all the shame hits him anew. He is his mother’s son, his selfless, compassionate, angel of a mother, and he is a monster who turned against everything she believed in.

“I love you,” she tells him, and he ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he shakes his head, letting hot tears slip down his cheeks.

“Come now,” she chides, wiping the wetness away with her sleeve. It’s as if he were four again, and he had just scraped his knee, rather than-

“I don’t deserve you, Mom,” he chokes, and although he needs her, it’s true.

“No,” Shmi’s tone is firm and resolute, “it has always been my job to love you unconditionally, Anakin. I’ll not stop now.”

“I did such terrible things-”

“Yes. And I forgive you for them.”

“How? How can you?”

“You are my son,” she says, and she cups his face in her hands and smiles at him, and he knows warmth and love with startling clarity once more. “And you have earned my forgiveness and always deserved my love.”

Anakin sobs again and hides in her shoulder, and Shmi holds him close until the cries subside and he is nearly calm again.

“There is more,” she advises him after a long while, and her warmth and love are still there but Shmi is very serious. Anakin’s throat dries, and he knows they are thinking of the same person.

“Not yet,” she says. “Soon."

“How can I-” the words die in his throat, and Shmi presses a kiss to his brow and looks him in the eye.

“She lived and died for you, Anakin. That love does not mean nothing.”

She smiles at him, her crow’s feet wrinkling, and her love is familiar and good and palpable, and then she, and everything, disappears.

4

There is a beautiful woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a short frame. Her features are sharp, but not harsh or unkind, except in the way that she looks at Anakin, which is with a mask of anger, her mouth set into a stern frown.

His wife’s name is on his lips, but there are differences, slight, but noticeable, and he realizes it’s because one woman aged while the other died, and when Sabé speaks, her voice rings out clearly in the tone of a queen with no time for mercy or forgiveness.

“You killed her.”

Anakin cannot breathe nor reply, so he nods instead, and stares at his feet.

“She was my life, and she died because of you, your selfishness, your rage. I worried from the second she married you, that you would be the death of her, and I was right.

“She let her love consume her, and so did you, but your love was poison,” Sabé spits. “You never deserved her.”

“No,” Anakin whispers. These are not the thoughts that made Darth Vader, but these are the ones that fueled him.

“I buried her. I loved her and I lived for her, and I brushed her hair and dressed her in her funeral gown and I tried to seek vengeance, and years later, a monster came to Naboo to find answers as I did, and I wondered why you didn’t kill us.”

“Because you look like her,” Anakin is still quieted by his shame. “Because I couldn’t destroy what was left of her.”

“I would have killed you then if I knew. I wanted to kill Vader with my bare hands, but you- you betrayed her. Death wouldn’t have sufficed for you.”

“I deserve that,” Anakin says, clear and loud. Sabé doesn’t disagree, but she regards him for a moment, studying his face, her own features still set in anger.

Then: “She forgives you.”

“What?”

“She wants to see you.” Sabé sighs and confusion overtakes Anakin’s shock, his heart pounding in his chest. “She loves you.”

“I love her,” Anakin blurts, and he tries not to shrink under Sabé’s scrutiny. “I love her still.”

“So do I,” Sabé says bluntly. “Which is why you’re seeing me first.”

“To berate me?” It makes sense to Anakin, although he has not particularly enjoyed this conversation, but Sabé seems amused, her eyes glinting.

“To tell you that you have served a penance. To show you that many will not grant you forgiveness.”

“Do you?” He suspects the answer, but the question

“I love Padmé. I follow her lead.” Sabé tilts her head to the side. “Though I keep my own reservations.”

She smiles faintly at that, then she is gone.

5

Padmé stands three feet before him, and she smiles.

Anakin staggers forward and stumbles, sinking to his knees. Tears are already streaming down his face when he murmurs her name, mixed with apologies and said like a prayer.

“Anakin,” Padmé says, and she holds him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Anakin.”

He breathes her in; he still remembers the scent of her perfume and the softness of her hair, and the way her body fits against his own larger frame, and the gentleness of her touch and her voice, and he has loved her since he was nine years old, and through war and darkness and villainy and death, he has not stopped loving her.

“I love you,” she tells him, and presses a kiss to his forehead. Anakin sobs, cradling Padmé against him, and begs her again for forgiveness. “I love you, Anakin.”

“I should have- I-”

“I know,” she says, and her tone is firm. “In the end, you have made things right. That is what matters to me”

“Our children,” he whispers. “Luke saved me.” He finally looks up at her, sees the warmth in her brown eyes. “He’s like you, Padmé.”

“I believed in him as I believed in you.” His wife smiles again. “I always did.”

“I missed you,” he breathes, and Padmé squeezes his hand.

“I missed you, too. I waited so long to see you again.”

“I’m here,” Anakin exhales, shaky. “All I wanted was to be with you again.”

“I have you now.” Padmé leans in, kissing him, then rests her forehead against his.

“Now I am complete.” Anakin echoes his mother’s words from all those years ago, and he knows they are true.

Padmé rises with him, wrapping both her hands around one of his, and reaches up to kiss him once more. He holds her with his free arm, never wanting to leave her embrace, and content in the fact that he does not have to let go.

[cinnbar-bun]

A Fool, A Sage, and a Lonely Friend Pt. 2

Pairing: Beelzebub x Reader x Lucilius

A/n: hello!! I return with the sequel after like… over a year hahaha … this ones a bit shorter, I think it’s best if I do smaller chunks versus just throwing a huge big piece like last time.

Warning: this is not canon. In the slightest. At all. Most of this is based on my interpretation of what I believe may have happened before WMTSB, and a lot of this has more dramatic and theatrical changes than what may have occurred. Please understand, I’m not trying to be canon- this is just for fun and I’m doing this to try and get to where we are now in canon! This series also contains mentions of abuse, sickness, death, and unhealthy relationships. If these make you uncomfortable, please do not read this.

Link to Part 1: https://cinnbar-bun.tumblr.com/post/190948837548/dark-rapture-and-chaos-lucilius-x-reader-x

“Open your eyes…”

He murmured softly against the body. His hand tightened around their wrist as he prayed for them to awaken.

Please... please... please…

Exhaustion and anxiety were all that remained in him. Ever since Beelzebub left to god knows where, he’d been focused on his newest creation.

A replica of the person he loved so dearly.

If everyone was to smite your existence, then he’d fix it all up for you. None would harm you. None would think to mistreat you or hurt you again. All they had to do was open their eyes, and he’d take care of them like how he couldn’t for you.

No movements. Lifeless. No pulse. Cold to the touch. No signs of any respiratory action.

He huffed as he pressed their cold hand against his cheek. He felt his eyes burn. It felt so much like when you were there… when you were in pain, suffering from that unknown illness even he could not figure out. He couldn’t help but mourn again. Everything was a constant reminder of what he had lost, and what he’d never get back.

A tear trickled down and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. He was tired. He was tired of crying. No more tears. There was no reason to cry when he was going to make you come back. He leaned over their body and used his thumb to graze across their cheek.

Nothing.

He sighed and was about to retract his hand when he saw their face scrunch up as they weakly creaked open their eyes.

“Wha… where…” they asked.

“My (Y/n)... you’re home.” He breathlessly whispered. He held their face with his hands and excitedly scanned them. Alive. It looked like them.

“Lucilius?” They asked, their voice barely above a whisper as they clenched their throat.

“You’re back. With me… I’m so happy. Come. I’ll have to perform some tests on you.” Lucilius said as he carried them in his arms. They looked at him with half-lidded eyes and tiredly nodded. “I can’t wait to show you all I’ve been doing.”

“What… what are you doing…?” they weakly called out. Lucilius tilted their chin up with his finger as he looked down on them.

“I’ve been working on bringing you back. I also made some new primarchs that you can befriend. Don’t you want to see that? You won’t be lonely anymore. You’re not in pain, are you?”

They opened their mouth before they shook their head. He smiled.

“Good...good… everything is right in the world now. I promise I won’t let anything hurt you anymore.”

They nodded and snuggled into his chest before they fell asleep again.

Ah, they still have sleeping spells. But that’s okay, I can fix that.

I’ll fix everything.

~

“Open your eyes.”

A cold voice awoke Beelzebub as he groaned in pain. He gripped his side before he felt a large force knock him over.

“What the-!” He yelled. He removed the black cloak covering his head and turned to his attacker. “You have some nerve-��

His heart stopped.

The assailant smirked at him and waved.

“Hello old friend.”

That voice! That… it can’t be…

How was it possible? How could it be that you ended up here? Here in this dark, disgusting hell? It couldn’t be you.

“(Y/n)?” He whispered. He felt he was being tricked. This was a cruel, sick joke. Pandemonium really was a disturbing and maddening place.

(H/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, (s/c) skin… things that reminded him of the love he lost. But so many things were different now. Those eyes were not wet with tears or weakened from sickness, instead, they were strong, burning with ambition that had him awestruck. The presence of you had become that of a… of a god, almost.

“Yes, it is me.” The figure nodded. They walked to him and gently placed a hand against his cheek. “Forgive me for hurting you, I just had to wake you up.”

He couldn’t respond. You were in front of him. After so long… after so many years of darkness and hatred and sadness spewing into his soul.

He gripped their wrist, wanting to hold you and make sure he wasn’t dreaming. That this wasn’t a cruel illusion placed by the gods of this world to torture him more.

“Beelzebub, darling, I’m here. You need to get up. We have unfinished business.”

“How are you alive?” He cut them off. They stared blankly before smiling again.

“I don’t know. All I remember is being offered a second chance. I need your help now.”

“What is it you need?”

“I know how cruel this world is. It has been so unkind to people like you and me. We are pawns in a game created by the gods. I am aware of how much it hurt you. But…” the figure hugged him, resting their head against his chest.

The warmth of your body against his made him feel nostalgic. He wrapped his arms around you and stroked your hair. Things he had wanted to do ever since you’ve been gone.

“But what if we became gods? Together?”

Beelzebub froze.

“You and I?”

“Mhm… just us two. Only the two of us, we who wish to seize control of our fate and take hold of our desires. We would be unstoppable, a force so strong that not even the gods could challenge us. All would bow to you, worship you, praise you. Don’t you want that, ‘Bubs’?”

He pulled the figure closer. The affectionate nickname that he never heard for so long… it felt like music to his ears.

“Heh… you don’t say? How did you know of what I wish?”

“Bubs, you fool. You don’t think I wouldn’t know what my love would truly want?” The figure chuckled before leaning into his ear. “I’ve missed you so much, Bubs. I’ve thought of you alone all this time. I wished to see you every day and dreamt of you every night. Is my dedication to my lord enough to prove how much I missed you?”

“Silence.” He whispered back. “You speak too much. To think, you’ve been here all along. Heh, I bet he never could have-“

The figure shut him up with a kiss to his lips. How long he had waited for that when he was a young, foolish boy. But now he was a man, a man with desires and dreams. No longer would he wait, instead, he’d claim. Claim all he wanted and desired.

The separation came far too quickly for his liking, and he held the figure close.

“Don’t talk about him. I’m here, Bubs. I just want you to think of me.”

“Tell me now what we will do to take over the skies. I don’t want to keep us waiting for our throne any longer.”

“I never thought you’d ask,” the figure smiled. “There is a certain… power. One that many cannot wield. But you, you’re different. You’re special, unlike anyone else here. This power can sow chaos wherever it goes, it can rip and tear anything asunder.”

“And what is this power?”

“It is called, chaos matter.”

[johnismyreason]

I have a request for a oneshot! Meeting tom in a bar, chatting, flirting, ending up at his place and having $ex🔥

It always takes me so much time to write something I’m sorry... Anyway I hope you’ll enjoy :) 

warnings: smutt, alcohol (kinda), praise kink, no foreplay, dom-ish!tom, and obviously the usual bad English 

The longest day ever. Ugh.

It was one of those days where you just think I just should’ve stayed in bed. Your alarm clock didn’t ring. You cracked your favourite pair of jeans right before heading out, making you running late even more. Your boss gave you yet another assignment in addition of you hundred of other ones. Stacy, your favourite co-worker, wasn’t here because she was on vacation with her boyfrie- fiancé now, wow she just texted you a selfie with her ring, and you remain single. Someone spilled their coffee on your shirt and didn’t even apologise. And finally hen you thought nothing bad can happen anymore, the rain was pouring. Of course you didn’t take your umbrella or a coat with a hood. Thank you London shitty weather. And of course, a car splashed the only puddle of water all over you. You wanted to cry, scream and burn everything down. You lift your head and read in bright red lighting the holy word “PUB”. Hallelujah. You didn’t even think about it, you just walked in.

The place was almost empty, which didn’t bother you at all, since you had enough interactions with humans for the day, maybe even for the week.

You sat at the bar, your coat drenched, your hair sticking to your face, your make up was gone and your mascara left black ink under your eyes. You were sticky and looked gross, but you couldn’t care less anymore. After three minutes with your head between your hands and elbows on the counter, the bartender bring you a shot of vodka.

“Wait,” you called him, “I didn’t order yet”

“Yeah, well, the guy over there got this for you” he replied, pointing at a curly hair young man sat on the banquette behind you, who, with a tight smile, waved shyly at you with just two fingers.

You looked at him with your tired eyes. Shit, he’s cute. He must has a weird obsession for desperate girls. You take the small glass and poured it down your throat.

“Thank you,” you told him a little louder than expected but you didn’t bother pretending you were sorry for three other customers. The young man got up and walked towards you, his bottle of beer in his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, seating on the stool next to yours. “You looked like you needed it” he chuckled.

“T’was that obvious ?”

He chuckled again before replying “a bit.” and you smiled lightly too. He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, just looking at you. “I’m Tom by the way” he introduced himself and extended his hand to you.

You looked at his hand, a little surprised by his traditional behaviour, but took it anyways “Y/N”

“Nice to meet you Y/N”. Another smile appeared on his thin lips . He was really cute. “So, what happened ? It seems like you had a rough day, don’t you ?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer. His jaw was sharp and his fingers were long and thin around the bottle.

“You wouldn’t want to know, it’s too long, and boring, and sad and... yeah, pathetic” you said, your head resting on your palm, staring at the counter.

“Well thank god we have all night, and you might think it’s an odd coincidence but, boring, sad and pathetic stories are my favourite.”

You thought about it. He’s a stranger in the creepiest pub in London, you don’t know nothing about him, and he doesn’t know nothing about you. You look a mess and weird, you’re drenched, why does he want to know about your day ?

“You like desperate girls, don’t you ?” you finally said.

“What ?” Tom replied, genuinely confused.

“Or maybe you’re the desperate one and is ready to pick the most rubbish looking girl, as long as you can have your release” you teased

“N-no, no ! I-I just... I saw you by the window getting splashed by the car, I felt so bad for you and I hoped you would come in so I can offer you a drink. I-I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’ll leave-”

“Wait !” you stopped him from getting out of his stool, placing your hand on his forearm. Now you felt bad. He’s the first and only person today who didn’t annoy you in any kind of way. “Please, stay. It’s been a long day. A very long day” you sighed. Tom sat back on his stool with a tight smile. He ordered two other beers for him and you.

“Wanna talk about it ?” he gently proposed. You nodded and started your narrative. You gave all the details, from the sound of your ripped jeans, the tone of the unkind comment your coworker spat after pouring his coffee on you, to the very beautiful diamond your friend got when she got proposed to what seemed the perfect guy. Tom listened to everything, and kept his focus on your eyes, sometimes your lips, but just for a second. You finished your story after what felt like 10 hours of speaking.

“Wow... that was... a fucking shitty day” he chuckled bringing you warmth to your heart.

You chuckled “I’ll drink to that,” taking your beer and clinked it with his. You sighed dramatically and turned to him.

“What about yours ?”

“Mine ?” he said after taking a sip. “Well, it was way less interesting than yours” he laughed. “Um... I woke up. Got to the grocery store, worked out, watched TV, worked and got to this bar. And now I’m talking to a very pretty girl.” you blushed, not expecting him to say that.

“I bet she smells like flowers” you roasted yourself.

“More like a wet dog but that’s light” Tom teased and you hit him lightly on his arm. You both laughed lightly.

“We’re closing,” the bartender cut you.

“It’s only 9 o’clock...” you responded, your eyebrows frowned.

“We’re closing,” he repeated.

You looked at Tom, rolling your eyes “It’s because of my bad luck, I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be. This gives me the opportunity to ask you if you want to come to me place, have another drink.” he asked shyly, putting the money on the counter.

You looked at him awkwardly stuffing his hand in his jean pockets, waiting for your response. He’s really cute. Fuck it, let’s go. You bit your lip into a smile and nodded a yes. His eyes widened.

“Really ? Great ! Um, let’s go then,” he let you walk first towards the door but opened it for you. He told that his appartement is just a few minutes walking from here.

You followed him in the almost empty streets, talking about everything and mostly about him. He was nice and funny and it felt like you knew him for years. He led you to his building and then apartment which was gigantic next to yours. He took your coat and offered you to dry your hair  with his hairdryer while he sets everything to eat. You agreed and followed him in his bathroom. You came back in the kitchen where Tom was preparing dinner. There was a central counter illuminated by three industrial-style lamps. Tom had a folded tea towel on his shoulder and seemed very concentrated on cooking his dish.

“Pasta alla tomato,” he announced with a proud smile and his fingers pinched together, noticing you coming back from the bathroom.

“I’m not quite sure, that’s how Italians call it” you laughed standing next to him.

“Who cares ? It’s gonna be delicious,” he smirked. “Wanna taste ?” he asked with a low voice, his spoon ready to make you taste the tomato sauce. You nodded eagerly, making him chuckle. You parted your lips and leaned towards him, welcoming the spoon in your mouth. You moaned at the taste and watched his pupils dilate for a split second.

“It is delicious,” you confirmed licking your lips. Tom watched your tongue dancing on your mouth and felt his heart beating fast. Suddenly, it was too hot in the room.

“We um... we should take some plates,” he tried to resonate him. He moved around you to grab two plates, forks and knives and placed it on the counter, in front of the chairs.

You kept talking about life and laughed at the strangest stories you two lived. You were having the best time. Tom was nice, funny and it felt like you knew each others for years. Everything since the bar was simple and comfortable. Also, he was really cute. You couldn’t take off your eyes of him. You admired the stain of curls falling on his forehead, and how his biceps contrat when he runs his hand through his hair to replace it. The little wrinkles around his eyes when he was smiling and the joyful burst of his voice as he laughs.

You also noticed a small stain of tomato sauce on his jaw, and without thinking about it, cutting Tom in his sentence, you swiped your thumb over it and brung it to your lips. Before you could reach your mouth, Tom stopped you, interlacing your hand with his fingers, pulling it to his face. He plunged his gaze into yours and wrapped his lips around your thumb. He licked softly your digit without breaking the eye contact. You stopped breathing, your heart pounding in your ears.

“That was mine,” he almost groaned. He then kissed delicately your other fingers while you starred at his lips and his face. He sometimes made eye contact with, making you loose your mind, before closing his eyes refocusing your fingers. He pulled gently on your wrist close to make you lean towards him. Your faces are a few inches away and the tension is so thick, the space between you is barely breathable.

“Y/N,” Tom whispered “please let me kiss you” he tilted his head waiting for your answer. Your breath was jerky, your pupils dilated and all your senses in turmoil. You leaned a little more, closing your eyes and nodded slowly.

Tom placed his other free hand on your cheek and closed the space between you. His lips were warm and rough at the same time, but his kisses were soft and caring. He wanted to make you feel good. The leaned position wasn’t the most comfortable though. So without breaking the kiss, Tom guided you up and sat you on his lap.

“Hm, much better” he said between kisses. You giggled and ran your hands through his soft curls. Tom navigated his lips down your neck and sucked on your hot skin. You tilted your head back giving him all the space he needed. Tom then traced his way down to your chest, his hands running up and down your back, waist and hips. You gently pulled on his curls to bring back his lips on your mouth, both whining and moaning.

“Tom, I need more... so much more” you desperately moaned out of breath. He didn’t say anything. He just got up, holding you around his chest and walked to his bedroom. After letting you falling gracefully on his bed he got up and took off his tight t-shirt. You discovered his muscular features, making you want to touch it.

“Give me your hands,” he nicely ordered. And you obeyed. He placed your palms on his pecs and slowly ran them all over his upper body. Your eyes stared frantically every inch of his skin, in awe of his features. Tom looked at your face with a slight smirk, admiring you.

“You like what see ?” that was so cocky yet so hot. You would gave laughed if it was anyone else, but there was something about him that was so hypnotising.

“I really do,” you whispered, still caressing him.

“Y/N, can I take off your clothes” he gently demanded, lingering his long fingers on your arms.

“Please,” you whimpered. Tom took the time to kiss you before pulling up your almost tired t-shirt and bra.

“Gorgeous,” he groaned and ran his warm hand on your breast. You moaned his name when you felt his lips around your nipples. “you’re so beautiful Y/N”. He pushed you against the mattress, stil sucking on your buds. He slid his hands down your body to take off your panties. “Can I take these off ?”

“Yes, you can” you answered desperately. He wasted no time and admired your glistening core.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you” Tom got up and grabbed a condom in his bathroom. When he came back he stumbled while taking off his boxers, making you giggle at his eagerness. He almost jumped on the bed and placed the condom on his very hard cock. You looked at him with wanting eyes, licking your lips.

“Do I need to work you out a little ?”

“No, no, don’t worry about that, you’ve done enough” you giggled and he responded the same way. “Please, I just need you...” you whimpered. Tom leaned on you to kiss you, and ever so smoothly entered you. You both moaned loudly.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel amazing” he stayed immobile for a little while so you can accommodate to him, until you moved your hips. He got the message and started thrusting gently but deeply.

Tom never stoped kissing you. On your lips, your cheeks, your neck... every bit on your skin that was reachable was showered by his lips. It was like a drug to him. You couldn’t get your hands off of his body, running them on his back, abs, chest and hair tugging a little on his curls. And each time your did that, he groaned and moaned. He made the prettiest sounds and you were loving it. Tom sped up his movements, holding close to him.

“Tom... umm you feel so good ! Gosh, please don’t stop”, you praised him and deepened his thrusts. They were more calculated, more passionate. Seeing him responding to your praises this way, made you want even more from him, so you continued.

“Um, yes just like that, oh fuck ! Tom, fuck you feel amazing !” he became animalistic in his thrusts and you felt your orgasm getting closer.

“You like this cock pretty girl ? um ?” he groaned in your ear “do you feel how perfect it is for you ? how it makes you loose yourself ? I feel you clenching baby...” his thrusts sped up even harder wanting you to release your pleasure “cum for me Y/N, I’m right behind you. God, fuck- your pussy feels so good, so tight !”

Your nails scratched his back, searching for something to hold onto, you arched your spine and let your orgasm took over you. Tom thrusted a few more times before he cums in you, moans and groans filling the air. He relaxed his body on top of yours, both you regaining your breath. Who knew, after spending the worst day ever, you would end up in a stranger’s bed. Tom eventually rolled on the side, giggling.

“What’s so funny ?” you asked a bit embarrassed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he reassured you, kissing you softly, “it was just... mind-blowing.” You felt your cheeks heat up against his palm.

“I know,” your confirmed. “Thank you for brighting up my day” you joked.

“Anytime, love !” Tom smiled before hesitantly asking you “actually, I was thinking, maybe we could go on a date, or something... I spent a really good time with you. I’m not only talking about the sex, huh, it was an amazing evening.”

You bit your lips and kissed him delicately “I would love that. I had a great time too”

[princessjaqulinechess1031]

dance in the park

summary: Damian and Marinette go for a walk in the park. 

characters: Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Marinette’s arm was hooked into the crook of Damian’s elbow, the soft spring breeze blowing her pigtails so that swayed just a little. Damian and she walked through the garden of Gotham’s city park. Marinette’s sketch pad was tucked under her arm in case she found something to inspire her, but for now, she was content to just walk with her boyfriend.

Marinette reached out to skim her fingers along the edge of an azalea.

“They really are beautiful,” Marinette said. Damian smiled from next to her.

“Yes, they are,” Damian said. Damian reached to the bush to his right and picked off one of the azaleas and stuck it behind Marinette’s ear. Marinette colored red and turned away from him with a quiet thank you, and she felt her stomach twist. The pink in the flower matched the skirt of her dress and made her eyes pop even more than they usually did, making her appear like a beautiful doll come to life.

They kept walking onward, nothing but sweet, comfortable silence following them. No words were needed to be spoken between them. It was moments of these silences that Marinette knew and heard more about Damian was than when he told her. The way he smiled when the sun first appeared after a rainstorm, the crinkle of his brow and the way he bit his tongue when he was confused, and even the way he turned his head when someone grabbed his attention. It told her the real Damian, not the one he put up as a front.

Marinette breathed in the scent of the flowers. She knew her sinuses were going to be unkind to her later for daring to enjoy the smell of a flower, but for now, she didn’t care. The aromatic scent only highlighted the joy she felt to be here with Damian.

In the corner of the park was a small ice cream vendor, and upon catching Marinette’s piqued interest in it, Damian lead them over to where the man was smelling it. They ordered (strawberry, the only correct ice cream as far as Marinette was concerned) and sat down on a bench in the midst of the flowery walkway.

“In Paris, there’s a man who sells ice cream on the bridge of the Seine,” Marinette said, nibbling on her cone. “André. They say he’ll make an ice cream that is a perfect mixture of you and your soulmate.”

Damian raised a brow.

“Was he actually right?”

Marinette shrugged.

“Sometimes.” Marinette smiled fondly. “Once, he gave me, Kagami, and Adrien a choice. To choose between which combinations we thought were best.” Marinette still remembered that day. It was the day things started to go downhill very quickly. She became the Guardian, she gave up on Adrien forever, and all the responsibility of the world felt like it had fallen on her shoulders.

Still, she smiled when she thought of that moment. Kagami and Adrien were two of her closest friends still. And that was the moment that solidified how much she cared about them. Marinette would give up anything for her friends. Sometimes that was strength, sometimes that was a weakness. Marinette chooses to think of it as good quality.

“What do you guys pick?” Damian asked.

“Adrien and Kagami couldn’t decide,” Marinette said. “I picked for them – their combination. It was the best choice.” She smiled up at Damian. “Otherwise, I might not have found you.”

Damian blushed and looked away. “Oh.”

Marinette laughed.

“Did I just make the ever-stoic Damian Wayne blush?” Marinette said.

“Well, when my girlfriend says nice things about me, I’m going to blush,” Damian said. Marinette took a small lick of her ice cream cone, looking down and away mischievously.

It really was for the best Marinette let Adrien go that day. If not, she never would have gotten him as her brother. He was her family now, the thing she could always hold onto even in the darkest parts of her life. He was a light that helped her stumble through.

And Damian…If Marinette had never met Damian, oh, Marinette might not know what she would do. Damian was many things – grouchy, stoic, and a little bit of a brat at times, but he was also so much more. Fiercely loyal and protective, kind to those he loved, and determined to be and do the best he could, even when he failed in the endeavor.

Damian had been there when Marinette first moved to Gotham, and Robin had been there when Ladybug first spread her wings here. Without both of them, she might not have made it through the move. Ladybug may have never come out of her shell again.

“That must be why you don’t blush a lot,” Marinette said. “There’s just so much to make fun of, I never get the chance to be nice.” Damian laughed at her teasing.

“You wound me, nawaret aynaya,” Damian said. Marinette laughed and put her head on his shoulder, shutting in her eyes and taking in the sounds and smell of the days around her.

She wished she could freeze this moment. No more villains or Miracle Boxes. Just a girl and a boy on a bench, eating ice cream and looking at flowers. Marinette loved being Ladybug and being Guardian, but it was so so much pressure. And she knew the pressure of being Robin weighed down on Damian. Especially since he was getting older, and pressure was mounting for him to go solo and take on a new identity.

“I love you, ma moitié,” Marinette said softly, barely above a whisper. Damian still heard her, as a moment later, he was repeating the sentiment back to her.

“I love you too.”

Marinette finished her ice cream cone and then stood, offering a hand to Damian and a smile.

“Dance with me,” Marinette said. Damian blinked up at her in confusion.

“What?” he asked. Marinette smiled and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. Damian was slightly startled, looking down at her in intense contemplation and confusion.

“Dance with me,” Marinette said. “I know there’s no music, but….”

Damian sighed, but did as Marinette asked. He placed his hands just a gentle hair above her hips, and Marinette slipped her hands around his neck. It wasn’t much of a dance, more of just swaying in a circular motion, but Marinette did not care. Nor did she care about the people who stared at them, all of whom looked at them like they were insane.

Marinette loved to dance with Damian, the feeling of his skin against hers, it made her feel alive. Made a moment feel like forever. And Marinette wanted this moment to be forever. To just be a normal couple in the park, making a complete fool of themselves because they were so in love.

That’s all she wanted, was it really so much to ask?

Marinette rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, taking in the sweet smell of the flowers and the familiar smell of paper and salt that was Damian. There was a faint twinge of sweat in there, but it was not repellant, it was just Damian and Marinette did not mind it. Damian rested his head on top of Marinette’s, making Marinette feel compacted like she was being pulled into Damian and kept safe by just his touch.

Marinette did not know how long they stood there, just the two of them, it could have been minutes. It could have been forever. She didn’t know. If this was eternity, then let it be. If it was just a minute, let her hold on to that minute and keep it close to her heart.

Marinette started to hum after a moment, and it was an unintelligible song, one with no real beat or repetition. It was more of just a quiet hum of enjoyment, but Damian joined in with her, creating a soft symphony of hums for them to dance to.

A wave of warmth took hold of them, and Marinette curled closer into Damian’s chest. Damian laughed and kissed her temple.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, you know,” Damian said. Marinette swatted at his arm playfully and did not look up from where she had snuggled into his sweatshirt. It was nice in the sweatshirt. Not too loud, and the warmth of a man she loved shrouding her from the breeze.

“Shut up,” Marinette said. Damian chuckled, causing a rumbling under Marinette’s head. “This isn’t really dancing.”

They hadn’t really danced since the night they first met at the gala at Wayne Manor. This was just dancing in the loosest sense of the word, but it still felt like Marinette was flying and that her heart may explode with joy.

“Come on,” Damian said, finally stepping away from her. Marinette looked up at him with a pouty face, but Damian just shook his head. “Father is expecting us back in a half-hour. If we’re not, he’ll send a search party.

“But I don’t want to go back,” Marinette said. “I want to stay here with you.”

Damian laughed. “We’re just going home. I promise we can dance more when we get there.”

Marinette sighed and picked up her sketchbook from the bench. She had intended to get some inspiration somewhere along the line today, but she preferred spending time with Damian more anyway.

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

Notes:

questions, comments, or concerns? let me know! have a blessed day!

--PrincessChess

[ibijau]

xisang, 46?

Choosing someone else over them

Sitting on the other side of a table covered with food, Nie Huaisang appears deep in thought, something not infrequent these days. Although Lan Xichen ought to be proud of him for trying to be less impulsive, he rather misses the silly, capricious young man his lover used to be. It always made Nie Mingjue so upset that his brother appeared incapable of any serious thought, but Lan Xichen had treasured it, this last innocent among his acquaintances. The last of them to still be free, at least to a degree, but now even Nie Huaisang has lost his candour and must bend his neck to the demands of politics.

In the years since Nie Mingjue’s death, Lan Xichen has come to the Unclean Realm as often as he’s been able to. Too much, according to some Lan elders. Not enough, his disquieted soul says every time he gets there again and finds Nie Huaisang a little thinner, a little paler. Along with his innocence, he has lost the last few traces of childhood’s roundness that had clung to his face. He is more handsome like this, but less like himself.

Tonight, as always when Lan Xichen is visit and there are no other guests to entertain, the two of them have retired in Nie Huaisang’s quarters to dine in private. The room, which used to be decorated with many trinkets, is still bare. Nie Mingjue’s uncontrollable rage destroyed so much, and his death never gave his brother a chance to restart his collection. It is another way in which things have changed, another thing Lan Xichen wants to correct and return to normal. He brings what small presents he can when he visits, just as he makes sure that Nie Huaisang, at least in his presence, eats to satiety. It is an innocent joy to be found in his lover’s presence… at least, when Nie Huaisang allows it.

Tonight, he refuses to eat, even when Lan Xichen, in a playful mood, offers to trade kisses for it. Food has held less appeal to Nie Huaisang in recent months, but he has always been weak to tender gestures. It is how Lan Xichen started taking notice of him, a sweet boy his brother’s age, but much more generous with his affection than Lan Wangji had ever been. It is deep in Nie Huaisang’s nature to touch and be touched, to crave any form of contact, or at least so Lan Xichen always assumed. If this too has changed…

Lan Xichen isn’t fond of change, but he is very fond of Nie Huaisang, and hoping all of this is just temporary, that things will return to normal once his lover settles into his new role.

Shaking his head slightly to chase away unpleasant thoughts, Lan Xichen puts back in his bowl the piece of mushroom he’d been trying to feed his lover, and sets down his chopsticks.

“Will you share what’s on your mind then, if it makes it impossible for you to eat?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. He has his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand, a near pout on his lips. Lan Xichen ought to make a remark about manners, but this carelessness is enough like before to be not only tolerated but enjoyed.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about da-ge lately,” Nie Huaisang says, and then doesn’t elaborate.

It used to be near impossible to shut him up, and now he’s so careful with his words. Sometimes Lan Xichen can still get him to blabber a little, but more and more frequently even he gets hit in the face by a barrage of ‘I don’t know’ if a conversation goes on too long.

“What about da-ge?” Lan Xichen insists.

Rather than to answer, Nie Huaisang observes him a moment. There’s a sharpness in his eyes that matches the new sharpness of his features. Lan Xichen misses the lost softness, even when he knows it is unkind of him.

Nie Huaisang looks away, and fiddles with his fan. “It’s just that it’s so odd, the way he died. I know he was unwell, but I wonder… I’ve done research, you know?”

Lan Xichen chuckles. “Have you now?”

His lover’s eyes dart toward him, throwing daggers.

“And why not? Am I more stupid than others?” Nie Huaisang snaps. “My brother dies so suddenly, even when he did everything he was supposed to prevent it, can’t I wonder if someone didn’t use the state he was in to hide something more sinister? He had plenty of enemies after all!”

“I’m sure few men would dare have called themselves his enemy,” Lan Xichen counters, surprised by this sudden fit of anger.

“They sure didn’t have the guts to say it out loud,” Nie Huaisang mutters to himself, before raising his voice again. “You can’t act like he didn’t disrupt things for certain people,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “Not when some people profited so well from his death.”

A frown forms on Lan Xichen’s brow.

“What are you trying to say?”

Nie Huaisang hesitates, and opens his fan, almost like a shield. His expression, or as much of it as Lan Xichen can see right now, is cold and calculating, entirely unlike the young man Lan Xichen once fell in love with.

How much can grief change a person? Even Lan Wangji, devastated and wounded, nearly dying after his own loss, hasn’t turned into a stranger the way Nie Huaisang sometimes feels now.

Nie Huaisang who takes a deep breath, and uses what little resolve he possesses to speak again.

“I’m saying that someone saw da-ge was unwell, murdered him, and blamed it on his unstable Qi. Am I speaking plainly enough for you, Zewu-Jun?”

It is more than plain enough, even if even now, Nie Huaisang isn’t saying all of it. Lan Xichen’s hands clench into fists over his knees.

To make use of Nie Mingjue’s state, a murderer would have needed to know about it. The Nie are private people who don’t share more than they must. An attack would have needed to come either from within (unlikely, when Nie Mingjue was beloved by his sect) or from the very few outsiders in whom Nie Mingjue confided his trouble. Lan Xichen knows, of course, that he did cause any harm to his sworn brother, and Nie Huaisang must know it as well, because he’s too clever to confront him so directly without proof… and such proof cannot exist, since Lan Xichen did nothing.

The accusation, then, must be directed at Jin Guangyao.

It isn’t that Lan Xichen cannot see why some suspicion would arise. Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue were hardly on good terms toward the end, both of them always complaining about the other whenever Lan Xichen was alone with one of them. And with Jin Guangshan in the middle of a dispute with Nie Mingjue over the punishment given to Xue Yang, with Jin Guangyao often coming to the Unclean Realm to play Cleansing, there is both a motive and an occasion.

Perhaps if the accusation came from someone else, Lan Xichen would consider listening. Perhaps not. Jin Guangyao, so recently risen to lead Lanling Jin after his father died from his excesses, has attracted many enemies, and Lan Xichen has been forced again and again to side with him against those who would have used his origins to tarnish his reputation.

The question is irrelevant, because the accusation, coming from Nie Huaisang, cannot be anything but ridiculous. Lan Xichen loves the man dearly, or perhaps just the memory of what he so recently used to be, but he doesn’t allow that affection to make him blind. Nie Huaisang, is many things, and he can even be quite clever on occasions, but he’s still not particularly smart.

“I think if your brother had been murdered, someone would have noticed,” Lan Xichen says with cold politeness. “I saw his body, as did others. There were no marks of wounds, nor of any poisons.”

“Someone knowing about his state could have easily edged him on to make things worse,” Nie Huaisang points out, burning eyes peeking out from behind his fan.

“By that logic, you could be called a murderer,” Lan Xichen retorts calmly. “His biggest disputes were usually with you, weren’t they?”

Upon hearing this argument, Nie Huaisang freezes, eyes widening in horror just as his face turns deathly pale. His shock is such that he even drops his fan, revealing a mouth slack with stupefaction.

“Zewu-Jun, you…”

“I’m not blaming you for what happened,” Lan Xichen adds. “I’ve told that enough times, what happened would have happened even if the two of you had gotten along better. But just as you cannot be held responsible for your brother’s fate, neither can Jin Guangyao.”

“So you won’t listen to me at all?”

“Not unless you have some more serious proof than this to offer to me,” Lan Xichen says. Then, not wanting to appear too cold to the man he does still love, and who has had a rough year, he adds: “If you do have anything that can prove what you say, then I’ll listen. And if that proof is strong enough, of course I will side with you and help you get justice for your brother.”

An easy promise to make, when Lan Xichen knows that there was no foul play. Nie Mingjue himself had been preparing for his death since the Sunshot Campaign, resigned to an early end. This conspiracy Nie Huaisang is inventing is just a new way to try and deal with a loss that took only him by surprise.

Nie Huaisang’s fan rises again.

“No, I don’t suppose I have proof,” he says, careful and sharp. “I think I’m just tired. I think I’ll ask you to go back to your room, Zewu-Jun.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying, even if all we do is sleep,” Lan Xichen says. It isn’t a lie. He does enjoy holding Nie Huaisang in bed, feeling the warmth of another body in his arms. “If you’d like, I can even play you something so you’ll rest better.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nie Huaisang snaps.

“You’re angry at me.”

“I’m not!” Nie Huaisang hisses, to which Lan Xichen only has to raise an eyebrow for his lover to roll his eyes. “Or maybe I am! I don’t know how I feel about anything, I don’t know, I just don’t know. Is that better? I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know what I know. I just know that I want you to leave me alone. Can’t I have this at least?”

Lan Xichen’s fists clench tighter, but he forces his smile to remain mellow.

“As you wish, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang only shrugs. He doesn’t rise from the table, doesn’t follow Lan Xichen to the door, doesn’t beg for a kiss the way he always used to do. Lan Xichen doesn’t remark on it and leaves the room.

As he walks, he tells himself that it isn’t a surprise if things took such a turn. Their affection went through some rough patches already when the war broke, when Lan Xichen became sect leader and found himself with much less free time, most of which he’d spent with his sworn brothers at first, until they all found a balance. This new change might just be the last drop for them. If it comes to that, Lan Xichen will mourn what they had once, while knowing also that meeting and parting is only another part of life.

He tells himself, also, that he will not share with Jin Guangyao those suspicions Nie Huaisang mentioned. His sworn brother would be too hurt that even one of his few friends would think that way of him.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

The Holly And The Ivy

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Reader, Sigurd/Margrethe

Summary: “I had this idea where Sigurd (or any of the brothers really) were to marry a Christian, but their marriage is dry and more political than anything, but Ivar is fascinated by her attitude (being opposite of him) and her love for life and simple things. He hears the reader and who she's married to talking about how she loves Christmas and he shuts her down, but Ivar decides to let her pick out a tree from the forest and put it up in the Great Hall and decorate it any way she wants. And the ending would include a kiss under mistletoe? If you can work with it.”

I’m very sorry if I dissapoint you anon, but the story was easier or smoother for me to write as a Modern!AU. I really hope you don’t mind. I can try something in the actual time period still, if you are not happy with au’s.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, passing mentions of abusive relationships (not involving any of the relationsips in the tag btw), angst, my poor attempt at holiday fics or holiday spirit. Also, a part is not smut or explicit but getting closer to it than most of my work, so that too.

A/N: I really hope I don’t dissapoint whoever requested this. Also, I made this way more complicated than it needed to be, bc I always do, and for that I’m also sorry. Hope you like this, thank you for reading!

The title is from a Christmas carol, cause why not lol

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius​ (I realized you once asked to be tagged on my Vikings works and I forgot, sorry)

“When we are done with this trip we’ll go back home.” Sigurd points out one night as you both say goodnight, in some hotel somewhere in Norway.

“Home?”

“To my mother’s, in a week. Family time and all that.”

Before you are to leave for your own room, you call out, “For Christmas?”

The blond shakes his head, “Yule. You can celebrate your Christmas when we return.”

“That’ll be after the New Year!” You complain softly, offering a smile because you cannot help it.

“I will have to deal with Ivar and my mother, you can deal with this.” Sigurd sentences, the harshness startling you and prompting you to accept the words with a nod.

He mutters a goodnight again, hesitating for a moment on his bedroom door, as if questioning whether he should say sorry or not. You choose to relieve him of that choice, going into your own room and closing the door with a quiet click.

As if it were waiting for the door to close, your phone lights up on your nightstand.

How’s Oslo?

You type a quick response,

You could just ask me if we’ll be attending your mother’s celebrations, you know.

The response takes a while longer, and you cannot help the smile that pulls at your lips.

…Are you?

I expect all those lessons of yours with Floki to come to use. I’m going to need to learn about Yule, apparently.

So I’m supposed to teach you?

Who else?

Your fiancé. Is the reply you get, so fast you think he already knew what your reply was going to be before you even sent it. After a moment, before you can even think on what to answer, another message comes through. Nvm, my brother is useless. I’ll do it.

Your lips pull into a wide and stupid smile, and God, not even the shame at the quick beating of your heart or the warmth that spreads through you could make you be any less thankful for this, if anything. For him.

Thank you. Are you going to be there by Christmas?

This time the answer takes a while longer, and the indication that he is typing appears and disappears a few times.

I don’t know. Before you can ask anything, or send anything, a new message pops up. Princess, this doesn’t get any easier. I don’t know if I can.

Tears rise in your eyes because a part of you knows you’re meant to say goodbye at the end, and every time you are reminded, either by the pain in your own chest or Ivar’s words, that you are on borrowed time; you realize that end is close than you think.

Well, in that case, Merry Christmas, Ivar.

____

You find yourself being driven to that massive and fancy house by your fiancé.

You toy with your engagement ring as the car approaches the house. You know, rationally, that you have nothing to fear. The brothers have never been mean or hurtful -well, most of them haven’t-, and Aslaug has always been courteous and kind and…incredibly performative.

A part of you never ceased to feel like an outsider looking in. Between the pariah that a stupid business practice will be made into Sigurd’s wife, and the silent and soft woman they ignore as if she were another piece of furniture, you’d much rather be the latter.

“Heavy little thing, isn’t it?” Sigurd teases as he turns off the engine, motioning with his head to the rings on your left hand.

You don’t say anything in response, simply getting out of the car in silence. You know he meant well, he always does.

But a part of you that is hopeful and childish and still looks at the snow that starts to fall lightly over the ground as some miracle that means Christmas is upon us…that part of you cannot help but feel bitter about it all. Regretful, or, maybe, resentful.

You never imagined life would be this, engagement -marriage- would be this. You thought of happiness and warmth and fidelity.

Foolish hopes, really. The hopes of a child that watched her parents dance to the light of the Christmas lights, to the music of the soft music her father hummed. Nothing but foolish hopes.

So, when Sigurd steps out and hesitates in offering you his hand, you offer a smile and take his hand in yours, choosing to appreciate that at least the man you will be forced to marry is one you might call a friend, a partner, one day.

It is easy to forget, it is easy to let your heart be light and just enjoy the adorable giggles of Björn and Torvi’s children, the sympathetic smile of Margrethe, the warm and brotherly embrace of Hvitserk.

You are sipping on wine and watching Ubbe throw Asa over his head as she yells for him to throw her higher when a presence stands by your side and a wine glass clinks with your own in silent toast.

“I know you know about Sigurd and me,” Margrethe whispers, “And I want you to know I am sorry. But…I won’t leave him, not until he asks me to.”

If a year ago someone told you that you’d spent Christmas Eve being told by your fiancé’s mistress that she refuses to stop seeing him, you would have assumed the world turned on its head.

It did, but…you still find it in you to love this world that hurts you, this life that tests you.

You offer a smile, “I know you love him. It started as…”

“Gold-digging?” The blonde supplies, a sheepish grimace on her face.

“I wouldn’t be as unkind as to-…”

“You should. That’s what it was,” Her smile loses the edge, and she falters, “At first.”

You accept her words with a nod, and another sip of your wine.

“Then as long as you are discreet, I don’t mind. Keep him happy, Margrethe, he deserves it.”

You start to walk away when she stops you with a call of your name.

“And you don’t? Deserve to be happy, I mean.”

You hesitate, faltering for a few seconds too long. Her blue eyes are big and uncharacteristically honest as they look at you.

“I…”

You take your gaze off hers, because it feels like she will know something she shouldn’t, something you don’t want her to; but your eyes betray you, it seems.

“Oh, him. Well-kept secret, that one,” She states, and when you open your mouth to argue, Margrethe shakes her head, “It’s okay, I don’t…I don’t blame you. Even if I don’t understand at all how that came to be.”

“It’s…”

“Complicated?” The blonde supplies, and you allow yourself a smile, you loosen your shoulders and close your eyes with a deep breath.

“Ivar, he…understands me.”

“But you two are nothing alike,” She states, and at your shrug, concedes, “Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe,” You offer, and after a breath, because bitter regret at being the thing that keeps her from the man she loves chokes you for a moment, “Margrethe, I…”

“Don’t you even think of apologizing to me,” She laughs, “Gods, woman, you truly are a soft thing, aren’t you?”

“I have the privilege of being it.” You offer with a kind smile, because you’ve seen the scars, because you remember her when she was more fragile.

Margrethe shakes her head, “The burden.” She corrects, and with a soft squeeze of her free hand on your arm, she walks away.

____

It’s on the day before Christmas that the last of the Lothbrok arrives. You walk down the stairs to a very early breakfast, and jump when the front door opens to reveal Ubbe and Ivar.

He came.

“You are up early.” Ubbe comments as he passes you by, dropping a kiss on your cheek.

You greet Ubbe absently, your eyes on his brother. Numbly, you hear him say something about telling Aslaug that Ivar has come home, and quick steps carrying him up the stairs.

Your lips curve into a smile, or at least they try to, “Hi.”

“Hello, Princess,” Ivar greets, what months ago would have been a smirk curving his lips. Now, now it’s more tired and worn than anything. “Just in time for your…Christmas, right?”

You nod, feeling the stupid urge to cry, “Yeah. Means a lot, you know.”

“Well, I could feel you pouting over the phone, love,” His eyes check the stairs before he moves aided by his crutch towards you with a wince of pain -the cold, you remind yourself, the cold making his legs ache-, and once he is before you, a hand that shouldn’t feel as tender as it does cups your cheek and brings your mouth to his. “I couldn’t leave you alone here. You always find ways to embarrass yourself.”

You chuckle, burrowing your head on his chest as you embrace him.

“I may have fucked up a few times,” You concede, eyes closed as you take in his scent, his warmth, “But I’m cute, I get away with a lot of things.”

____

As the timer on your phone dings, you get up from the couch, leaving a warm but strong drink behind, and make your way to the kitchen, ready to take out the sponge cake -no, a voice too alike Ivar corrects you, Bûche de Noël-.

Uneven steps behind you let you know of who walked in behind you, and you turn around with a slight frown on your brows, meaning to ask something before he interrupts you.

“He’s groping and kissing her in front of you, and you say nothing?” Ivar demands, anger shining clearly in his blue eyes.

“Sigurd and Margrethe?” You ask, and shake your head, “Why would I say anything?”

“You know about them.”

“Of course I do. He doesn’t hide it from me, and he shouldn’t hide it from his family. He loves her, and she loves him.”

“You don’t care that he’s humiliating you?” He presses, and you sigh.

“Everyone here knows how things truly are between Sigurd and me.”

Ivar’s mouth curls into a snarl, and cruelty spews from his lips, “Well, if you had let Ragnar know you had no problem letting your husband fuck whoever he wants, you might have been able to marry Björn, like your father wanted.”

You close your eyes, “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, hm? Like someone that’s watching the woman he-…What am I supposed to be then, hm? What would make you happy?” He accuses, not losing the cruel edge in his voice even if you both know what he stopped himself from admitting. When you don’t answer, Ivar takes a deep and angry breath through his nose, “I’ve always been jealous of my brothers, you know this. Growing up their poor crippled brother is nothing to knowing Sigurd gets you and doesn’t even know what he-…what I’d do to be him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Make him be the man you deserve!”

“He’s not the man I want,” You point out before you can keep the words trapped behind your lips. Ivar is inexplicably stunned by your words, it seems, and you lower your gaze. Resting your hands on the counter you drop your shoulders and shake your head, letting go of the previous argument and returning to…peace, or as close to it as one can get with Ivar. “Your brother deserves to be as happy as he can, with the woman he loves. It will not hurt me to see him with her. As long as-…”

“‘As long as it is discreet’, yes, I know. My mother and Ragnar have the same agreement.”

“It works for them, does it not?”

Ivar meets your gaze and doesn’t answer for a few moments, long enough that dread sets in your chest and questions arise in your mind.

Eventually, on the side of his jaw the clear tell of gritted teeth, he replies,

“Not as well as you think.”

“Well, Sigurd and I are friends, we…things will work out. They have to.”

“They have to, of course,” He mocks, moving his head as he rolls his eyes, “Anything to keep Ragnar and your father happy, hm?”

“Ivar…”

His eyes search yours, searching for the answer to a question he has not yet asked,

“I-If I asked you not to do this, if I…if I asked you for more time…” He leaves the words hanging between you, and you blink past helpless tears. He knows the answer, you know the answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to remind him -and yourself- of the world you live in, of the lives you were meant to live, because the door to the kitchen opens and Aslaug walks through.

You keep your eyes firmly set on the tray before you, even though you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, demanding an answer. When he realizes he will not get one, he grunts, a clenched fist hitting the counter once before he walks away.

“I’m sorry.” You offer the matriarch as she keeps her all-seeing eyes on you, but Aslaug offers a smile. A fake one, but a smile nonetheless.

“The cold gets to Ivar, it makes him irritable. It is not your fault.” She soothes, but the smile you offer her in thanks still trembles. You both know these are lies you are sharing with one another, and though it makes you falter and stumble, Aslaug moves gracefully from one lie to the next.

“I’ll-…” You point behind you, to the living room, but the woman shakes her head.

“Surely you have time to help me with this?” She asks. It feels like walking into a wolf’s den when you nod your head and approach her.

“Of course.”

She watches raptly as you assist her in preparing the Yule Log, and you focus on doing your best to keep your hands from trembling.

“For someone that doesn’t follow the Gods, you know a lot about tradition, girl.”

“I…It was the least I could do, learning about what is important to your family, to Sigurd.” You offer, and whatever she -who always has the look of someone that sees beyond what normal eyes can- can sense in your words makes Aslaug stop.

She turns to you, and surprises you with a hand on your cheek. The woman towards over you, but the gentleness in her touch, the warmth in her eyes, they help you to not feel threatened.

“Still loving the world that hurts you, sweet thing?”

“It’s all I know how to do.”

Aslaug’s smile is almost sad when she looks into your eyes, “To love, yes, I know. Wish I saw that sooner,” You don’t know what to answer to that, so you offer her only a shaky smile and a shrug. Aslaug chuckles gently, “And you love my son, don’t you?”

The terrifying thought that she knows what she’s doing when not saying any names, the realization nothing gets past her and neither did whatever is between you and Ivar, it all settles in your stomach with a dead weight.

Still, whether she asks about Sigurd or Ivar, the answer is the same.

“Yes.”

One as a friend, a partner, a man you can learn to respect and build a life alongside of. The other, as everything you ever wanted, as someone that will always make you wonder about the ‘what if’s.

She shakes off whatever takes a hold of her, and before you can ask what she means, why it pains her, she steps back from you and turns her back to you.

“You know, Ragnar isn’t the only one in this family with an eye for business. I was once in the same position you are now, the heiress to an empire,” Aslaug’s smile seems to thaw as she hands you a refilled glass of wine to match hers. Resting her backside on the counter behind her, she continues, “My parents were able to teach me a few valuable lessons before their death.

She grabs your left hand, stopping you. Her eyes look deeply into yours, but her thumb rolls your engagement ring on your finger.

“Like how to understand when I can’t make any more moves. And when I can change the wording in a deal to make it favor me.

Your lips part, you think to say something, but Aslaug stops you with a smile.

“Let’s hope you’ve learned the same lessons, my dear.”

____

Ubbe is dancing with Asa standing on his feet, and you watch with a smile on your face as the family enjoys time together, and celebrates the holidays in their own way.

A part of you misses the Christmas lights, the decorations you’d help your parents put up when you were a kid. A part of you misses how simple life was back then, how in this time of year you could forget there was a world past the snow drifting down and the warmth of a hearth and a home.

Ivar comes right up to you, but doesn’t sit next to you, choosing to remain standing.

“Grab your coat,” He orders, and at your confused frown, he rolls his eyes and amends, “Please.”

The most insincere please in the history of pleases, but you know you get more than most, so you don’t comment on it.

Still, you have to ask, “Why?”

“I-…a surprise,” He says, and insists you move with a gesture of his head, “Come on.”

You follow him to the small house the Lothbroks have by the pool, a cozy little home of big windows. When Ivar motions for you to go in ahead of him, a part of you is suspicious, but you still skip your way inside and try not to ask questions as to how it is so warm here when it should be vacant.

Ivar turns the lights on, and you find in the middle of the living room a Christmas tree.

The tree is bare, but still lively and familiar.

You turn to Ivar with tears in your eyes, because you cannot help it.

“You did this for me?”

“You love your Christmas,” He mumbles, embarrassed at the reaction his -to some, uncharacteristic- thoughtfulness got out of you. “I figured you deserved to have some of it with you here.”

“Did you buy Christmas lights?” You ask softly, almost moving up and down in the balls of your feet in excitement, eyeing the bags on a chair nearby.

Ivar chuckles, endeared, and nods, “Go ahead, Princess.”

You skip your way to the bags, quickly looking over the goods and already planning on how to decorate it, how to make it look pretty, how to make it yours.

You don’t truly know how long you spend on it, gleefully putting up Christmas lights, and little ornaments. During the whole time you spent excitedly decorating the tree, you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, and when you look back at him you find him staring with a strange softness in his gaze.

You choose not to think too much on it, and instead ask his opinion on the decorations, that he gives gruffly and with a very poor attempt at making you believe that -either because Christmas grew on him, which you find very unlikely, or because of your own happiness- he isn’t happy to be here.

____

You smile at the warm and twinkling lights, and burrow closer to Ivar’s warmth, refusing to take your eyes off the dancing lights and refusing to put your feet back on the ground.

Refusing to step out of the fantasy that this could be your life.

Ivar shifts his position, and you lift your head from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and meet his eyes in question.

His eyes give away so much, always have, at least to you. And now they reflect the warm sparkle of the Christmas lights, and they reflect hesitation, fear, uncertainty, love.

Before you can ask what is wrong, Ivar leans in, his hand previously around you tangling in your hair as his lips claim yours.

His kiss is always demanding, but this time it holds desperation in the way Ivar begs for your lips to part with his own, it holds an urgency in the way his tongue dances with yours, it holds a ragged edge in the shaky breath that he lets out through his nose, it holds a goodbye in the way he ends the kiss as if forcing himself to pull away from you.

You try getting your breath under control and your voice to be yours again, but he’s so close, and warm, and yours; and all you want to do is kiss him again.

Kiss him again, and make the furrow in his brow, the pain in his eyes, go away. Kiss him again, and pretend you are not living on borrowed time.

So you do.

You kiss him, and take control of the kiss, and make him groan lightly against your mouth when you tug on his hair, and whimper his name against his own when you straddle him and feel him getting hard underneath you.

When your need for breath makes you part from his kiss, Ivar wastes no time trailing fervent kisses down your neck, panting breaths against the hot skin that he kisses and licks and bites.

You moan his name, forgetting everything but the touch of his lips on your skin, forgetting everything but the scent and taste and feel of him.

Either at the sound of your voice or the grind of your hips against his hardening cock, Ivar’s breath stutters and he breathes your name back at you, voice low.

His brow rests against your collarbone as he takes deep breaths, and your fingers toy at the hair that flows down to his shoulders.

“You know…” He murmurs, pressing a kiss that makes you shiver right on the dip between your collarbones, “There’s nothing I want more right now than marking this pretty neck of yours. Leaving you with…” His teeth scrape against your skin, a tease both for you and himself. Ivar does it a few more times, and moves up your neck again. Your breath shudders past your lips, and you tug on his hair to remind him of what he was saying. You always did love hearing him speak. For all the months you spend apart, his voice telling you what he’d do to you, what he’d have you do to him, is all that keeps you warm. Ivar chuckles, but continues, “Leaving you with my mark all over you, where everyone can see, so…so that they don’t doubt you’re mine.

His hands tighten on your waist, before they travel down, caressing your thighs as he sighs.

“But you’re not, are you? And I can’t…I can’t do any of that. I can’t-…”

You interrupt him before his thoughts can get ahead of him, before he can twist himself into knots about the situation you are both in.

“I am yours. Only yours.” You remind him softly, your lips by his ear. You lean back so you can meet his eyes, and seal your promise with a soft kiss over his lips.

Ivar’s eyes search yours when you pull back, with the same look as before. Uncertain, lost, tender and yet almost sad.

“Marry me.” He whispers, keeping his eyes on yours.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide. He couldn’t have…he knows that…none of this makes any sense.

“Marry me instead of Sigurd,” He insists, and as if remembering the part he forgot, he curses and hurries to fetch something from his pocket. He offers you a simple but beautiful ring, and swallows, “I-I can make you happier than he ever could, I…I love you.

I know you can, you already do.

I love you too.

But you can’t say any of that, because your breaths are shallow and your head is filled with thoughts and…and you need space.

You scramble to stand, to put distance between the two of you. After a few controlled breaths, you return your eyes to Ivar, whose hand has now fallen back to his lap even if he still holds on to the delicate ring.

He grits his teeth, the obvious tell at the side of his jaw, and he seems to want to divert his eyes from you, but he only blinks and keeps certain eyes on you.

“Your father wants you to marry one of Ragnar’s sons, he doesn’t care who. I…have talked with my father, he agrees that if you want to, we can…” He licks his lips in a nervous gesture, “Mother says any backlash from breaking the engagement can be handled.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have, y-you’d be Sigurd’s wife if I didn’t think of something,” A twitch of anger, of uncertainty, of fear, on his face, and then he amends, “You still can be. But I want you to be able to choose.”

Choose me, is what he doesn’t say.

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and you try a few times before you can finally speak,

“Ivar, we haven’t…it’s been only a few months.”

“And it will not work out, that’s what you’re saying?” He huffs, defensive, “It won’t work out if you marry my brother either.”

“I-…this-…”

“Stop thinking of excuses,” He snaps, gritted teeth and hurt written in his eyes, “I’ll handle everything, no matter your answer. Just…just give me an answer, Princess.”

____

It is open ended cause there’s two ends to this, I wanted to leave the choice to you guys! So, follow the link for the epilogue of your choice:

Will you accept the proposal and be bound to Ivar, for better or worse?

Or will you stay with Sigurd, and be content with companionship and friendship?

Hope you liked this, even if it wasn’t very holiday-ey. I wish you all very happy holidays and a great (or decent, after 2020 I’m happy with decent) 2021!!

(Ik it’s like the 13th and I’m gonna be very much around here posting and bothering the whole lot of ya till the holidays and beyond, but holiday fic and all that, ‘twas the perfect time to send good wishes and all. Love ya!)

[archaneanscribe]

A Fresh Brew Shared with You

(So I’ve been getting really into Trio of Towns, and spent about one in-game month throwing coffee at Wayne until he loved me, and I had a lot of time to imagine what was happening in game while I did sp, so enjoy the byproduct of that. I use my farmer’s name, farm name (Aime, and Bloom Farm) plus some animal names, but it’s pretty generic otherwise, as it’s focused on Wayne’s POV mostly.).

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

Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route every morning.

When Aime had first moved in, she was solidly in the middle- he would work his way through the more local Westown residents, then mosey on down to Bloom, before taking the long way around to reach Tsuyukusa and Lulukoko. Back in those days, he would often catch a glimpse of her toiling away in her fields, maybe even snagging her attention long enough for them to exchange a wave. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then the main bridges reopened, and during the ensuing reshuffling, he and Ethan had worked out that it would be best for him to stop at her farm at the very end to complete his loop of the crossroads.

And he stopped seeing her.

Well, that wasn't nearly accurate- he saw her throughout the day, running about like the busy bee she always was, and they might pass each other by at his other stops. But he no longer ran into her on her own property. By the time he arrived, she was inside her barns, milking the cows.

(He still remembers the taste of that glass of milk, so sweet, but not nearly as sweet as his host.)

It was simply how it panned out, but he couldn't help but feel a little pang of regret at losing those glimpses of her in her element, working the land like she dreamed for half her life.

And then Aime had to surprise him, as she always did.

It was an ordinary fall morning, the red dawn melting away to make room for the blue midday sky while he crunched fiery leaves beneath his boots. She only had one letter that day, which looked like nothing more than a materials invoice from Ludus. In and out, easy as pie. But when he got to her mailbox, he found a curious sight sitting right on it's flat wooden top.

A cup of steaming hot coffee.

He looked to both his sides, then around the box, then behind him, and finally at every which angle he could, resulting in him spinning around like a fool. Shrugging, he dismissed it as her forgetting her beverage in a rush. He pulled open the hatch-

-to find a note, with his name in large letters at the top.

DEAR WAYNE,

I know you walk your whole route and my farm is pretty out of the way. That made me start feeling badly about how much mail I get everyday, which gave me an idea: Since you like coffee, I'd start leaving you a cup! Please write on the bottom of this note how it tastes, and how you most like your coffee so I can try and make that for you.

LOVE, AIME

I'll be darned, he thought, unable to suppress a wide smile, Does that gal ever run out of ways to make my day?

He shook his head, gently placing the note back down like it was made of priceless crystal instead of hastily written on a torn piece of journal paper, and picked up the mug, still hot as all get out. That means he probably only misses her by a few minutes at most... Sniffing it, he took a tentative sip, smile instantly morphing into an ecstatic grin the moment his throat finished the first swallow.

"Delicious..." he said to no one in particular, punctuating it with another sip. It was your standard black coffee, straight from a packet, but this was brewed by Aime, for him, and she planned to do it every morning. There was no way it was going to be anything less than the best cup he ever had. Before he knew it, he had downed the whole thing, uncaring of the temperature, and was licking his lips to make sure he got every last drop.

Westown's famous playboy slobbering over his own face for any splashes of his crush's coffee. If only the town's gossip hounds could see him at that moment.

After his euphoria passed, he finally realized he was just standing outside her mailbox, letter in one hand and empty mug in the other. With no better solution in mind, he placed the cup back where he found it, before pulling a pencil out from his bag.

DEAR AIME,

Thank you kindly for the coffee, it was divine. My favorite has got to be mocha, but it's hard to get a hold of in these parts, so no need to trouble yourself. It's more than enough for me to know you're thinking of me.

- WAYNE

Content with his reply, he placed the note back in the box, covering it with her letter. He was mighty tempted to stay and wait for her, but his grumbling stomach had other plans. Oh well, he'd simply have to be satisfied with her coffee for now. 

As he made his way back to his room at the Postio, the grin on his face was enough to make the birds in the treetops swoon.

----

Despite what he had written, the very next day, he found a mug full of Cafe Mocha sitting on top of the mailbox. This time, the note was held down by the mug itself, penned on much nicer stationary.

DEAR WAYNE

I know you said don't worry about it, but Caolila recently had a large shipment of cocoa, so I couldn't help myself! Especially after remembering how much you enjoyed Vivi's milk. I have a cup myself every morning, so I don't mind doing it at all. I hope you have a great day today.

LOVE AIME

One again he was no match for this lass' tenacity, it seemed. He was going to be on the receiving end of her kindness no matter what he said.

Well, there was no use resisting now. Fully reconciled with the idea of this being a daily occurance (not that he needed much convincing), he decided to savor the beverage today, taking slow, luxurious sips. It would have been a good cup 'o Joe, even if he wasn't steadily falling for the woman who made it. Smooth and creamy, it was the perfect intersection of sweet and bitter. 

Despite trying to take his time with it, the experience was over before he knew it. He always enjoyed a good coffee, but he had never felt such a pain when it was over before.

...maybe he had it worse than he thought.

----

Two weeks into their caffeinated ritual, Miranda asked him a question that stopped him in his tracks.

"Thanks for the package as always, Wayne!" she paused, looking down at the box in her hands, before back up at the mailman, "Say... you never come by to buy coffee these days. Is somethin' the matter?"

"W-What? There's- Nothin's wrong, don't you worry."

Unfortunately, the fact that Wayne the Suave Postman tripped over his words was enough to tip just about anyone off that something was up.

She put her hands on her hips, and spoke in a tone that he was certain Noel had heard many a time in her short life, "Well I don't believe that for one hot second mister! Tell me what's eatin' you right now or I won't stop hounding you for the next week."

He knew she meant it.

"I've jus' been having coffee with Aime lately, is all. She makes too much, so she offers me a cup every mornin'," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't particularly fond of lying, but if you told Miranda something worthy of gossip, it'd make the rounds by sundown, so he couldn't risk exposing his true feelings quite yet. Amie had to be the first to hear about them.

"Oh, is that so?"

...she seemed to know already, but at least had the decency not to make any accusations.

"I see now, but remember we've always got some in stock! Aime buys in bulk, so I always make sure I've got enough," she punctuated her statement with a wink. She definitely knew.

"...I'll keep it in mind, ma'am. See ya' later."

"Bye bye!"

Even if he wasn't totally convinced she was onto him from her words, by this point she definitely had to be, considering his face was as red as a rose right about now.

----

Another week after that, as he made his way down the slope that led into Bloom Farm, ready and eager for that day's mocha, it wasn't only a mug that he found sitting by the mailbox- it was Aime herself.

"Heya, Wayne!" she greeted him cheerfully, waving her arm in a large arc. He managed to successfully stifle his shock, though not so much his joy.

"Well, howdy there Aime. Shouldn't you be in that there barn by now?"

She smiled bashfully, "Normally I would, but Betsy the sheep is pregnant, so I've started doing it earlier in the day when I go to check up on her. Which means I've got some free time in the morning for awhile," she held up her own half empty mug, "So I thought I'd wait up for you. A hot drink is best shared with a good friend, after all."

"My grandma used to say the same thing," he replied, expression soft. Deciding to make himself comfortable, he pulled his bag over his head to place off to the side, laid his hat on a nearby fence post, grabbed the mug, and sat beside her on the porch steps. At first, not much was said, the pair instead choosing to mutually enjoy the warmth of the coffee in the crisp, chilly morning air.

"You talk about your grandparents a lot," she asked, cracking the silence like an egg, "What were they like?"

This took him aback briefly- it was his own fault, really, for keeping his past so close to his chest, but that was a rare question for him to hear.

"What were they like...?" he pondered aloud, blowing away the last wisps of steam from the steadily cooling mocha, "Well I'd reckon as nice as you could imagine. They weren't perfect people, nobody is, but they always tried their best to do right by each other, and everyone around 'em. Can't remember anyone ever having an unkind word to say when they were involved."

She giggled into the lip of her cup, shaking her head as she did so, "That sounds a lot like someone I know. You really take after them, if they were really like that."

"Shucks, that's mighty kind of you to say. I try and live like they taught me as best I can. Seems the only way I can repay 'em for all those years takin' care of me."

"Hmmm..." she brought her mug down to her lap, face pensive, "I'm sorry if this is too far, but... do you ever wonder if your life would have been different? If your parents stuck around, or even took you with them?"

He blinked blankly at her for a moment, at a rare loss for words, before quickly regaining his composure and shaking his head, "I can't lie and say I never have, but not for a very, very long time. I made my peace with it years ago. Maybe it wasn't the 'right' choice to leave me with grandad and grandma, but I couldn't imagine being very happy relocatin' all the time either."

That statement made her go quiet, and sent her gaze down to her feet, "It isn't very fun, you've got that right."

Shoot.

"I'm real sorry for being insensitive like that," he pulled the brim of his hat down in embarrassment, "I should have chosen my words more carefully."

"No no! You're fine!" she denied, frantically waving her free hand, "Our circumstances are totally different. We only moved every couple years, it wasn't constant travel or anything."

"Still, it couldn't have been easy on ya' if it was enough to make you decide striking out on your own was better than movin' again."

"That wasn't the only reason," she corrected, "It was just... what really spurred me to take to plunge. I figured the longer I was used to never settling down, the harder it would be when I was eventually able to follow my dreams. I was finally given my 'now or never' moment."

"Well," he knocked back his final sip of coffee, wiping his lips with his sleeve in exaggerated satisfaction, "Pardon me for sayin' so, but I'm glad it happened. You were the breath of fresh air these here towns needed."

She breathed out a quiet laugh, bumping her shoulder into his, the warmth of the contact even through cloth sending a pleasant tingle down his body, "You really are quite the charmer, Wayne. I'll admit to being a little slow on the uptake, so I didn't really get what everyone was tittering about you at first. But I definitely get it now."

If he were a lesser man, he would have tossed his hat into the air and hollered at that statement, but managed to resist.

But it was a close battle with himself.

"That so? Funny thing is, I feel like I'm at my clumsiest talkin' to you. You don't want pretty words or flattery like most folk. There's nothin' wrong with any of that, mind you, it's just easier than deep conversation."

"That's what I mean, silly," she replied with a dazzling smile, "Smooth talking Wayne is nice and all, you can't get to know everyone on a deeper level, but I definitely like the Wayne I know a lot better."

"What's this Wayne like?" he asked, dropping how voice down to his real flirtatious octave, "I'm mighty curious."

"He's earnest, very sweet, just a little bit silly, aaaaaand..." she dragged out the word, smiling growing to face splitting levels, before quick as a flash poking the tip of his nose, "...very cute."

Before he could reply, a nearly ear splitting BAAAAAAA arose from the nearby barn.

"Betsy!" she cried out, rising to her feet immediately, taking off in a run towards the sound, tossing only a single glance back at him, "Just leave the mugs there, I'll clean them up later! Goodbye!"

And with that, she was gone.

His hand rose to cover his nose like he hoped to trap the sensation there forever. His heart had thumped in his chest plenty of times for his other paramours, but it had never raced like a thoroughbred horse before he met her.

"Well I'll be," he said quietly to himself, "I'm in love with her."

----

The next time he was making his way to Bloom Farm, he had a very precious pendant hanging down from his neck which he could barely keep himself from fiddling with every few seconds.

Maybe it had been pretty obvious that their trajectories were in line for a crash, but he still felt like a million bucks knowing that she felt the same, enough so that it was her who had reached out to him.

The familiar fields came into view, and he immediately started searching the horizon for a glimpse of her, finally finding her dusting off her porch.

"Aime!" he called out, ditching any pretense of composure and sprinting towards her at full speed, which was worth it to see the joy on her face as he approached, "Mornin', darlin'."

"G'morning, Wayne," her grin had an edge of mischief, "Any mail today, or is this just a social call?"

"The only thing I have to deliver is myself today, I'm afraid to say."

"I think I'll be quite alright," her face softened, putting the broom aside and gesturing for him to come up with her, "Come on in, coffee's already brewing, and I tried my hand at making some cookies with Vivi's milk and Patty's eggs."

He nodded, following her with an expression he knew must have been downright lovesick. 

Maybe Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route, but from now on, it would always be the last stop for his heart.•

[e-milieeee]

what if we already are (what we’ve been dying to become)—Marichat

Summary: Hawkmoth’s defeat should mark a joyous occasion for Paris’ superheroes, but instead, Chat Noir finds his entire world breaking apart.

(Marinette’s determined to help him build it back together, piece by piece.)

Notes: i... forgot to post this? reveal fic with uH angst and some healing and tears ahHAHAha whoops 

Or read on AO3

The whole world was made of fire—suffocating, terrifying fire—yet Adrien was drowning.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even as the rest of them apprehended Hawkmoth (no, not Hawkmoth: Gabriel Agreste, his father), Adrien didn’t help. Pieces of glass from the battle littered the ground, chaos spread all around, unfurling inside him, and the yawning pit of horror and fear and disbelief opened wider.

Hawkmoth was his father.  

He watched as the butterfly pin was taken, watched as Hawkmoth was led away, watched as his father’s lips moved, addressing him in words that didn’t reach Adrien’s ears. Plagg, who had hovered a little ways away after he had released his transformation, flew up to Adrien and nestled in his hair. If he offered any words of comfort, Adrien didn't hear them.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drowning and drowning and drowning like there was no end to how deep the water could drag him down. The only breath of air was when the familiar sight of red and black dropped into his line of vision and Ladybug’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Adrien,” she said.

Adrien. His name seemed to ring in his ears, growing louder until his head felt like it was going to burst. Adrien Agreste. She knew. Ladybug knew who he was.

Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste—son of Hawkmoth.

The water once again dragged him under, and Adrien felt himself whisper the words of transformation before he was fleeing as fast as he could. Glass cracked under his feet like bones. Ladybug’s shouts for him to stay only made him run faster, and then Chat Noir was scrambling blindly through Paris, wind tearing at his face and guilt tearing even more viciously at his heart. He didn’t know where he was going, but all he knew was that he needed to get away.

For a very long time, the city blurred for Chat. Something seemed to carry him along, kept him going until he reached his destination.

There. The school. Perched on the roof, Chat looked down. Ladybug’s magic had fixed everything, it seemed, because not a brick was out of place. The crack that ran through the courtyard was gone. Everything was the same, even if nothing was anymore.

Inside him, a hurricane of emotions continued to swirl, each demanding their own share of his misery. They mixed and danced until Chat couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were only there to serve as a reminder of who his father was. And, as an extension, who he was.

Chat blinked, expecting to feel a prickling in his eyes—anything—but no tears came. Gabriel Agreste had always been a quiet, driven man, even when Emilie was still alive. But there had always been memories of better days, when his father had put aside his work to lift him up on his shoulders, running around the house and laughing while his mother chased them with a broom. There was the time his father had attended his piano recital, watching fondly with his mother tucked in the crook of his arm, standing up to clap when Adrien finished. There was the time they had decided to bake together as a family and eight-year-old Adrien splashed a bowl of melted butter over Gabriel by accident and received a bowl of flour over his head as revenge.

Such warm memories, once treasured pieces Adrien clung onto. Now they were tainted with new ones: seeing his mother in the glass coffin; Hawkmoth’s detransformation falling to reveal his father; the way he had attacked Ladybug, his friends and him.

A soft zing sounded behind him, and Chat whirled around in fright and surprise. Ladybug stood, blue eyes like the sky, even though the sky today was covered in a dark, angry grey.

A wave of terror swept over Chat. What did she think of him now that she knew the boy underneath the suit? It had always been Chat Noir which he favoured over Adrien Agreste. Who would she see when she looked at him? Her partner Chat Noir, or Adrien the son of Hawkmoth? Or maybe Chat Noir, son of Hawkmoth?

“Stay away,” he managed to croak, scrambling to his feet. Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning streaked. A storm was on its way. “I’m—I’m—” The words caught in his throat, refusing to come out.

Ladybug raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Adrien,” she ventured, and he flinched back violently. She tried again. “Chat. It’s okay.”

“You know who I am.” The words were shameful, and he wished desperately they weren’t true.

Ladybug’s blue eyes remained locked with his, anchoring his feet to the ground, not letting him flee again. Then, without looking away, she whispered, “Tikki, spots off.”

As the bright pink light of her transformation faded, the first drops of rain began to fall as well. Before him stood Ladybug—no, not Ladybug. Before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chat’s breath caught in his throat. His father momentarily forgotten, he took in the sight of her: black hair tied by red ribbons, brilliant blue eyes. The shape of her face. The sweep of her bangs, which were beginning to get soaked by the rain. Everything about her was so, so familiar.

How had he been so blind? Marinette, bringing the class pastries from her family’s bakery. Ladybug’s kind smile as she spoke gently, softly to akuma victims. Marinette, laughing as she kicked his ass once more in Ultimate Mecha Strike. Ladybug, whooping as they raced across Paris. Marinette, full of warmth and love and determination and a kindness that extended to everyone. Ladybug, always selfless and brave and beautiful.  

Of course. Who else could Ladybug be but Marinette?

And how vast the chasm between them. Marinette Dupain-Cheng didn’t deserve Adrien Agreste as her partner.

The thought swept through him and seized hold of his heart. With all the willpower he had left, he ripped his gaze from hers and turned to run again.

He only managed a single step forward before a hand latched onto his wrist. Before Chat could go anywhere, Marinette was tugging him back, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. She said, “Stay.”

A choked gasp left him, and with it, all the struggle dissipated. Chat let Marinette tug him towards her, collapsing into her arms as she wrapped them around his body, tight and unrelenting. The storm threatened to tear him away, but she clung to him so strongly that he was anchored.

“Chat,” she repeated. “Adrien. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s not. You—you know who I am. I’m—my father—Hawkmoth’s my father.”  

Marinette didn’t let go of him. The smell of apples and vanilla all around her—it was Ladybug’s scent; Marinette’s scent.

“And you,” he continued. “You’re Marinette. How was I so stupid?”  

“You’re not stupid,” she replied. Slowly, she removed his hands around her, only to put him at arm's length so she could meet his eyes. “You are every bit the person I would want you to be, chaton.”  

“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better.”

A laugh left Marinette as well, but it was quieter, maybe a little sad. She gave his shoulder a little push down, and Chat sat at her command. His body felt too numb, too out of control to resist. “Let me tell you a story. About you.”

About me. What good story could there to be tell about him? What a tale they could spin; Paris’ protector finding out the person Paris needed protection from was his own flesh and blood.

“When I first met you,” she began, “as Adrien Agreste, I hated you.”

The rain continued to splash down, and Chat felt his heart grow cold. Of course she did. Because how could Marinette, light incarnate, love somebody like him? All those days of pining after Ladybug, and he had never realized just how far apart they truly were.

“Then,” Marinette continued, “you gave me your umbrella when it was raining, and I fell in love with you.”

His breath caught in his throat. When he looked at Marinette’s eyes, they were wide and serious.

She fell in love with me.

“Why?” he whispered.

Marinette placed a hand on his cheek, letting the rain gather on her palms as it streaked down both their faces. “Because you were kind,” she replied. “Because you were generous enough to give a stranger your umbrella when it was raining. I began to notice you more after that, and I realized that you were so… you shined so bright. Even though you were famous, you were still humble. Even though you had the best grades in the class, you never bragged about it. There’s never a person you’ve been unkind to, even though they were unkind to you. The more I knew you, the more I loved you.”

The words repeated in Chat’s head like a broken record. “You loved me,” he echoed. “You loved me. As Adrien.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “I loved you as Adrien. And I loved you as Chat Noir, as my partner and my other half. Except I didn’t want to admit it because I thought that I could only be in love with Adrien Agreste. Now that I see you, I don’t know how I could ever have imagined it to be anybody else.”

Chat continued to stare at her. Marinette met his gaze squarely, determination written all over her face. Every word she had said was the truth, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish and surreal it sounded. Just like the truth that his father was Hawkmoth, but this—this truth spoke of a kinder, more hopeful reality.

“Do you love me still?” he finally asked. “After you know who my father is?”

“I don’t care who your father is,” Marinette replied immediately, firmly, before he could even start fearing her answer. “You are not your father, and you’ve more than proven that to me. You’ve more than proven that to everyone. Especially yourself, Adrien.”

He breathed. For the first time since he had found out Hawkmoth’s identity, he truly, deeply, breathed. Then, “Plagg, claws in.”

A flash of light later, it was Adrien standing in front of Marinette. He searched her face for any signs of regret, any disgust, but all he could see was understanding and kindness.

“Adrien.” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper. She raised a hand to his face again, wiping at the water that kept on dripping down, drenching his clothing. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.”

She pulled him into another hug and this time, Adrien let himself fall right into it. Her arms remained tight around him, and even as the storm around them raged, the one inside seemed to quiet down ever so slightly.

“None of us care that Hawkmoth’s your father,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that you’re loved, Adrien. Just know that.”

Loved. The word pierced through him, finally breaking the dam he had been labouring so hard to hold up. He wept into Marinette’s shoulder out of pain and fright and relief and happiness all at once. Loved. It shattered something inside him, something already broken, and broke it so completely, so wonderfully. And Adrien realized that he believed Marinette—believed wholly with all of his bruised, fractured heart that what she said was true. That she loved him, as Adrien Agreste, as Chat Noir, as Gabriel Agreste’s son.

“It’s okay,” Marinette repeated yet again. “And it’s okay if you’re not okay.”

He sobbed until the tears ran out altogether and even after that, Adrien clung to Marinette like a lifeline. She didn’t let go either, hands soothing against his back, whispering quiet words that Adrien could finally believe.

Adrien was the one who pulled back that time. Marinette smiled at him, her face radiant, and he tried to mirror it. “Look,” he said. “I got your clothing all drenched with my tears.”

She wiped wet hair out of her face and laughed. “Looks like I did the same to you. Seems to me that we’re even on this one, kitty.”

Surprised delight unfurled in him hearing her call him that nickname. Then Adrien was smiling wider, more genuinely. His father was still a weight on his heart, but Marinette was there, holding his hand and not letting him carry it alone.

“I’m glad it was you,” Adrien admitted at last. Thunder rumbled, directly above their heads. “But at the same time, of course it was you.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “Although look at how dumb we were. We couldn’t look past our own crushes to see the person we loved loved us right back.”

The person we loved. Adrien’s heart still stammered at that, leaped and soared and sang to hear such words from her. He wasn’t sure he would ever, ever hear it enough.

Marinette’s laugh suddenly cut through the air. It chimed like bells. “I would get so nervous around you,” she recalled. “I would stammer, freeze up, and could never look you in the eye. To think you were Chat Noir the whole time, and I was turning down the same boy I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around because how hopelessly in love I was. Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“I can do you one better. I spent so much time convincing myself that you were just a friend and I couldn’t be in love with you because I loved Ladybug, but you were Ladybug all along.” Then he paused. “Wait. That means those pictures in your room…”

Adrien watched as Marinette’s face turned a dark shade of pink. “... they weren’t for your so called designer purposes, were they?” He feigned surprise. “Why, did you have a crush on me, m’lady?”

She smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He sighed. “I guess all the times I professed my love to you might’ve not actually been for vain. It’s truly touching.”

“Shut up,” Marinette growled, now crimson. “You insufferable cat—”

She broke off, seemed to remember something, then scrunched her face into an expression of determination. Before Adrien could figure out what was happening, Marinette snatched a handful of his shirt and tugged him down to her height, lips brushing over his.

It was all over in a second. Adrien gaped at her like a fish out of water and Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile spreading across her face. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s—maybe it’s too early to say this, and it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, but I want to spend my life with you. With Adrien and Chat Noir. As Marinette and Ladybug.”

This time, it was joy that bloomed through his chest, full and bright. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Me too.”

Marinette’s smile was the sun, her eyes the sky, and Adrien’s world was bright and clear despite the rain. She held out a hand to him, and he took it.

It’s okay if you’re not okay. The road to healing was a long one, and Adrien knew that it wasn’t overnight that he could finally come to peace with the fact that his father had been Hawkmoth. It wasn’t overnight that he could understand the reasons, to forgive and let go. But that was okay.

Broken, he might be. But broken could be fixed, and if anyone could help him do so, it was Marinette.

End notes: This is part of a set of three loosely connected drabbles (that all work as standalones). Here’s part one.

Fics masterlist here!

[mulderist]

Great Unknown

One Shot | MSR, RST | 3k+ words | Rated: M | ao3 Written for the @xfilesfanficexchange Dialogue Exchange for @msrafterdark also tagging the fantastic @today-in-fic

Summary: Scully’s feelings leading up to the FTF Hallway Scene

The ping from the elevator chime caused her to flinch. The doors shuddered as they slid open and Scully stepped inside, gripping her car keys against her palm. A torrent swirled in her chest. She felt adrift in an angry sea, searching for a lighthouse to guide her to shore. She leaned back against the worn paneling in the elevator car and shook her head sharply. With a deep inhale and a shaky exhale she allowed herself to briefly fall apart. 

Scully thought about other moments, just like this, where she hid herself to lose composure in the back corner of the office or silently cry in a bathroom stall. Purge it from her system, wipe her cheeks, and soldier on. The past year was marked by so much pain and loss. A confusing array of emotions that she was forced to compartmentalize. The return of her illness and miraculous recovery, strange memories from the night on the bridge, finding and losing Emily in the blink of an eye. The list was becoming insurmountable. She never wanted to appear vulnerable nor did she allow herself complete release or acceptance. He tried to remind her that she wasn’t alone and that gave her some comfort. He could be fiercely protective with an overbearing concern at times -- but he was there. 

Scully told herself all this turmoil was from the exhaustion of their return trip to Texas. Dragged out to the desert on a hunch to pursue phantom tanker trucks. Chased through a cornfield by black helicopters only to escape unscathed. They argued on the drive to the airport and she was too tired to speak to him after they nearly missed a connecting flight back to D.C. 

She was late getting to the Hoover Building for her awkward meeting with OPR. Feeling unprofessional and flustered she endured an hour of questioning. Skinner met her in the hallway, trying to offer words of encouragement. Instead she only heard the words from a senior agent echo in her head about disciplinary action. How was she going to tell Mulder?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought about the consequence of bringing this journey to its end. She pressed her lips together stifling a sob. The impression of her keys grew deeper in her hand. Another chime and the elevator doors opened. It was then she realized she neglected to press the button for the fourth floor.

——-

So many times down this hallway, finding herself at his door. She knocked first then turned the knob, surprised to find it was unlocked. Mulder was seated at his cluttered desk and didn’t get up from his chair as she stood at the threshold. He tilted his head with a quizzical look; not at the fact she was standing in his foyer, but more concerned about her uncharacteristic disheveled appearance. Jacket undone, white shirt hastily untucked. This time she couldn’t hide the fact that something was wrong.

“Salt Lake City. Transfer effective immediately.” It tasted sour in her mouth. Her throat felt dry. His eyes closed and he shut the book that was balanced on his lap.

“You can’t quit, Scully.”

“I debated whether or not to tell you in person,” she continued, nails pressing into her palm. He told her they were so close to finding answers, that they were on the verge of something. She painfully disagreed saying he was the only one who was making that leap. He rose from his chair and approached her. 

“After all you saw last night, after all you’ve seen you can just walk away?” 

“I have. I did - it’s done.”

“I need you on this,” he stressed as he leaned in closer. She could feel her heart breaking. This man, who would follow his beliefs to the ends of the earth; who was already sinking in the deep end of unwanted cases before she came along. She figured he’d be better off without her to continue his pursuit of the truth.

“You don’t need me Mulder, you never have. I’ve just held you back,” she paused long enough to catch her breath and stifle another wave of tears. “I gotta go.”

She was four steps out the door before she heard his heavy boot heels follow. She whirled around and witnessed his frustration boil over. He confronted her and fought to get the last word before she walked out of his life. She stood her ground, not letting him win this time. Scully told him she had only been a pawn, a small player in the grand game to shut down and debunk his work. Then he cut her off.

“But you saved me.” 

His honesty hit her like a bullet. Hearing him say those four words with a rawness and a vulnerability to his voice caused a pang in her chest. He continued, telling her that she kept him honest and made him a whole person. 

“I owe you everything. And Scully, you owe me nothing.” 

It was an unconventional declaration of love. Simply put, he loved her and in that moment she truly felt it. Her lips parted as she tried to think of something to say but nothing came. She could feel her pulse pound in her ears. His voice lowered as he stood dangerously close.

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can.”

The powers that be had made the decision for them. She knew it was a forced short-term re-assignment, six months at best maybe a year. Where would things stand when she returned. His plea hung in the air; thick and heavy. There was nothing she could say. The harsh yellow lighting in the hallway was an unkind compliment. He appeared exhausted, desperate, and defeated. She swallowed hard and walked forward into an embrace, burying her head in his chest. She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. He held her close with a strong arm draped across her upper back, his head resting in the delicate space between her neck and shoulder. She pulled away and reached for the back of his neck to bring him down, allowing her lips to sweetly kiss his forehead.  A tear slipped down her cheek.

“God, what are we doing, Mulder?” she whispered, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. He exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead against hers. She sniffed with a soft gaze at the floor. She was still questioning herself and he could sense it.

“I can’t lose you now, Scully. Not after all this,” he said softly as he smoothed her hair. She had been here before, melting into his palm as tears pooled in her eyes. Her chin lifted. She could feel her cheeks flush and her pulse quicken as he brought his other hand to frame her face. His touch felt more like a lover than a friend, five years of unspoken desire in a gentle caress. He was turning the key to her heart, unlocking it without saying a word. She searched his face and suddenly desire invaded her thoughts. She was overcome with a need to be with him, even if it was only for tonight. 

A shared bated breath. Lips parted just so. He leaned in and time stood still; they could have been the only two people in the city with the world falling down around them. A celestial thread pulled them together, slowing their orbit. He pressed his lips to hers; soft and warm. Her head drifted back as she took his kiss. Hunger dared her tongue to explore further. His fingers traced down her jawline and trailed along her supple neck. Her head tilted ever so slightly allowing the tip of his tongue to slip past her lips. Her hands moved to hold the sides of his neck, fingers stretched up towards his cheeks. Suddenly, she felt his embrace tighten around her and he lifted her up with ease. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and he turned, carrying her back down the hallway. As he stumbled inside his apartment they parted long enough to catch a breath.

“Mulder…” she purred as her feet found the floor. He released her then placed a free hand on the door and firmly closed it behind them, flipping the deadbolt. She paced further into the room and shed her jacket, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. As she turned around he met her at the espresso stained door frame with another passionate embrace. She leaned back against the solid wood, feeling his weight comfortably envelop her. He then dipped his head to meet hers as her fingers nimbly toyed with the hem of his dark grey t-shirt.

“Scully,” he began with heavy breath, “If you’re giving me this chance, I want to make sure I do things right,” he said carefully. “I want -- you. Only you.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of her cheek as fingertips gently threaded into her fiery locks. She lifted her chin and red-rimmed eyes met his gaze. Her hand connected to his chest like a magnet, the rhythm of his heart pounded beneath her fingertips. 

“I’ve learned that there has never been a clearly defined right or wrong with us. This thing that we have is complicated.” her voice faded to a whisper. She searched his face noting a shine in his hazel eyes.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mulder asked tentatively, knitting his fingers with hers over his heart. She could no longer deny what she truly felt; he was hers and she was his. Despite higher forces trying to tear them apart, together they would walk side by side into the unknown.

“No,” the response was quiet but firm, “because I want this, too,” Scully said. Her lip trembled and he calmed it with another slow kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. A sigh escaped her mouth as he peppered kisses along her neck, tasting her pulse. Roaming hands connected to her waist following the natural curve to her hips, mouths met again and again. She tugged at his shirt, twisting soft cotton around her finger, lifting the material over taut lower abdominals. He parted for a breath and watched the rise and fall of her chest, a flash of gold resting on her sternum. He lightly grazed her rib cage forging a path northward. Warmth bloomed around her heart, flowed through her veins and plunged down to her center. She was aroused in the purest definition of the word. His thumb brushed across her breast and suddenly froze when she quickly covered his hand.

“I’m sorry, we can just…” he stammered.

“Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly as she undid the buttons on her shirt, slowly parting the curtain of silk revealing herself to him. She wanted him to see her, take her, love her for just one night. Things might change but it was a risk they both were willing to take.

He stared for a moment, hesitant to accept the offering in front of him. It was her turn to frame his face, an unspoken cue to proceed. A content grin crossed his lips. He cupped her perfect breast with one hand and noticed how she fit easily in his palm. Each squeeze and knead perking her nipple even more against the smooth fabric of her bra. He nipped at her clavicle, moving her shirt to expose the skin of her shoulder. He tasted Texas dust, salt, and the summer wind. 

She licked her top lip and needed him more than ever. The flint was struck and a flame was growing. He pulled away for a moment to remove his shirt then flung it to the side. She was no stranger to his form; capable of seeing him strictly from a doctor’s perspective but this was vastly different. The details were smoother, softer, begging to be touched. Her fingertips ran a featherweight trail from defined pectorals to abs. He hummed with each caress. She felt a surge in her center and gently directed him further into his living room.   

——-

The afternoon sunlight cast an array of jagged shadows along the walls of the apartment, but Mulder could only focus on the way the golden glow illuminated her. A guiding light to each new curve, each line, each angle. Worn leather the color of dark chocolate provided the altar. She, a goddess draped in white silk astride his lap, breasts rocking slightly against fabric and lace; he, a devout disciple eager to follow her guidance and show her boundless pleasure. His thumb worked a spiral with precision focus on damp black cotton that separated them. He could feel the small hairs on his bare thighs stand on end with each flutter of the hem of her shirt. Her petite frame worked in unison with his digit, punctuated vowels escaped her lips. She reached for him, unfurling tented boxer-briefs. A moist tip graced her palm, her languid strokes caused him to pause and loll his head back against the cushion. 

He shifted suddenly and laid her down, noticing her cross fall into the pit of her throat. Light shone on perfect skin, enhancing the array of freckles across her chest. Clothing tugged aside allowing him entry. His finger traced her seam and ventured further into the dewy folds. Her back arched a perfect curve, hands stretched overhead reaching for the arm of the couch. Her breath came in short bursts as she gave in to his touch; it was so different from her own. He paused to reach down and lubricate himself with her arousal. She blinked lust-laden eyelids and licked her lip. Gently he slid inside, feeling the heat of her center. His first thrust caused a shudder, her grip tightened on the couch. She mewled when he found the deepest part of her. 

“Yes Mulder,” she uttered through a moan, sucking on her lower lip. He drove deeper and deeper. His slick piston motored in and out, his breath ragged. She could feel herself tighten around him. One hand clasped the back of his neck, her thighs twitched, abdominals burned, she was so close now.

“Harder,” she begged, fingertips digging into his skin.

“Mm...Scully,” he said breathlessly. Her staccato exhale grew louder with each thrust. She never wanted him to stop. 

“Oh god I’m..” she warned as a euphoric high traveled up her spine. She gasped and suddenly came hard against him. A cry escaped her lips, hips bucked fiercely. A thousand points of ecstasy lit up inside causing tears to well in her eyes. She let the wave wash over, drowned in the ultimate release. Every inch of her twitched and quivered and it felt right. God it felt so right.

------

The last rays of rosy sunlight had dipped behind the building across the way. A serene silence filled the room. He traced a line along her forehead then down her cheek. She closed her eyes and could feel a glow surround her. He pushed back with a shaky bicep and she caught her breath. He carefully rose from the couch, tucking himself back in and went to the kitchen. She righted herself then heard the rush of water from the faucet. A deep exhale and she swallowed back tears. Joyful tears. Her fingertips tapped against her cheeks then ran through her hair. Mulder soon returned with a towel and a full glass. He sat next to her and she let him dab the terrycloth on her abdomen. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She stood slowly to find the bathroom, he caught her hand with a signature caress of his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’ll be right back,” she said as she caught one more glimpse of his nearly naked frame sitting on the couch. A few minutes later she emerged, finishing the last button on her shirt.  

“Are you alright?” Mulder asked as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. Scully took a sip of water from the glass on the table.

“I’m fine,” she said with a nod of her head, “And I truly mean that. For the first time in a while I’m actually fine.” He got up from his seat, bending down to grab his jeans. After pulling them on she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. A tear tracked down and absorbed into his skin.     

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly, pulling away with her palm resting on her jawline.

“Hey hey,” he soothed. 

“I know I just said I was fine but that um, that—was a lot for me,” she continued, wiping away tears, “A lot of good but...a lot.”

Her eyes lifted and she saw the smile on his face. He kissed her once again, tender and slow. They didn’t need to say much more. Not yet. She knew they still had to talk about re-assignment but that was a conversation for a later time. Once she got home and processed everything she would reach out to him. For now she just wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was.

Scully stepped away and collected her shoes, pulling them on as he finished getting dressed. She walked towards the door, crouching down to pick up her jacket but was startled when something fell from it. She folded the layer across her arm then bent lower and saw a fluff of yellow frantically kicking its legs. Her eyes widened.

“Mulder,” she called.

“What is it?” He asked, finishing off the glass of water. She rose with the insect pinched in between her fingertips and showed him. He held her hand closer to get a better look. “Wow. A stowaway.”

“Do you think it was from that facility?”

“Almost certain,” he said squinting, “Did it sting you?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I found it on the floor when I got my jacket.”

“Wait a sec.” 

He dashed to his desk and rummaged through the drawers looking for a container to house the bee. She met him halfway and placed the offender in its new holding cell. He took it from her and she went to wash her hands. When she came back in the room he was dialing the phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asked.

“Frohike. I want to have this thing analyzed.”

Scully thought for a moment as she shook her jacket then flipped the collar. Her hand went to the back of her neck, feeling nothing but the clasp of her necklace. Mulder was quick with the details and hung up just as fast. He noticed her fidgeting. 

“I can’t believe that it was in my collar for that long,” she stated running her hand along her upper back, feeling a phantom itch.

“Hopefully we can get some more info about it. I have a theory and I’d really like to be wrong,” Mulder said, adjusting his shirt. “I’m just glad you weren’t stung.”

“Well, even if I was I don’t have an allergy.” She pulled on her jacket, fluffing it before tying it at the waist. Mulder finished fixing his shoes and grabbed his black leather jacket, pocketing his cell phone.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that would make a difference,” he said somewhat to himself while retrieving the bee. She followed him out the door. 

As they waited for the elevator she shook her head.

“We can never catch a break, can we?”

He squeezed her hand, holding on to it as the chime sounded and the doors slid open. 

Unspoken communication. 

Side by side into the unknown.

[queenxxxsupreme]

For the angst prompts, eskel and reader # 43 and/or 34?

34. “Will you miss me at all?”

43. “Are you leaving?”

The bed shifted and moved, stirring you from your light slumber. 

You opened your eyes, finding your bedroom dimly lit from the light coming in through the window. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon. 

You brought your hand up to rub your eyes, rolling over onto your back. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice, tender and raspy, caught your attention. 

You turned your head to see Eskel sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. 

You watched him breathe, admiring the muscles rippling beneath scarred and tanned skin. 

“It’s okay.” You turned over on to your side so you could face him, folding one arm beneath your head. “What…. What are you doing up so early?” 

“Can’t sleep.” His answer was quiet and short. His hands gripped the edge of the bed. You could see his arms flex, see his muscles become more prominent as he gripped the edge of the bed. 

“Are you leaving?” You asked. 

“Yeah.”

“So early?” You furrowed your brows together, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “You-You just got in last night.”

“I know.” He stood to his feet and moved away from your bed, casting one last look over his shoulder at you before moving across the room to gather his clothes. 

You sat up in the bed, clutching the linens to your chest. Your bottom lip was taken between your teeth and your brows drew together. 

Your mind began to wonder, to question why he even bothered to stop by if all he was going to do was leave. 

You’re so stupid,Y/N. He came here for a warm bed. For company. He didn’t come for you. 

As he pulled on his trousers, Eskel looked at you. Your silence was confusing. You were looking across the room, eyes glossy and harshly biting your lip. He knew what you were doing. You had an awful tendency to overthink everything, to question everything. 

Thinking it would hurt you less, he picked up his shirt and left the bedroom silently. 

The door clicked shut behind him, pulling you from your thoughts. You scrambled to get out of bed, to follow him, to get to him before he completely left. You pulled on a shirt that had once belonged to the quiet witcher and hurried out into the main room. 

The main room was much colder than your room. The fire had gone out some time in the night, letting the bitter autumn air come into your home. 

Eskel was next to his armor and his swords that he kept near the front door. He didn’t like venturing too far into your home with those things. 

“Are-Are you going to leave without telling me goodbye?”

“I didn’t think it would do us any good.” 

“Eskel, look at me.” You moved towards him, putting your hand on his bicep. It amazed you how the tender and affectionate witcher you’d come to love could shut down so easily and become distanced with you. 

His movements froze, eyes darting over to look at you. 

“You just got here last night. Please consider staying a few more nights.” You pleaded, squeezing his arm carefully. 

“It’s getting cold. Winter is coming.” He shook his head. “Need to get to Kaer Morhen.”

Your hand fell from him and you watched him pick up the satchel he kept his clothes in. 

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, moving to the window in the kitchen. 

A hefty layer of orange and yellow leaves covered your yard. The sun was just beginning to peek through the trees. 

“At least let me make you breakfast.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing you’d lose your composure if you did. 

He let out a soft sigh, yellow eyes gazing at the back of your head. 

He knew his cold and distancing attitude were hurting you. He could hear it in your voice and see the way you tensed up. 

“Y/N…. I’m-I’m going to be honest with you because I care about you.”

You turned to face him, your hands falling to your sides. 

“I won’t be coming back.” His words were quiet, voice trembling as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

Your lips parted, shoulders slumping. You stood there for a few moments,  in shock, unable to process what he was saying. 

“You-You won’t- You won’t come back this year?” You asked, hoping and praying that you heard him wrong.

“No….. I’m not coming back at all. Ever.” 

Your knees became weak as the breath in your lungs seemed to disappear. You pulled out a chair at the table, sitting down heavily. 

“Y/N, I-I don’t want to lead you on-,”

“Seven years.” You cut him off, eyes focused on the wooden table. 

“What?”

“Seven years.” You brought your eyes up to meet his gaze. :”That’s how long we’ve…. How long I’ve….” You couldn’t find the right words to use. You had never defined your relationship with the witcher, never out a title on what you were. 

He’d come and go as he pleased, as he needed. You would sometimes see him several times a year. Other times you saw him once when the seasons changed, when the first signs of spring showed.  But he always came back to you. 

“Seven years, Eskel! That isn’t leading me on! That’s-That’s using me! Using my kindness! Using me for a warm bed, decent food, and a good fuck.”

“Y/N, it’s-its not like that-,”

“The hell it is, Eskel!” You couldn't help but feel used, manipulated even. 

“Seven godsdamned years, Eskel. Had I known it was nothing to you, I would’ve spent those years searching for a husband, for someone who loved me-!”

“I love you, Y/N! I do!” Eskel finally raised his voice, cutting you off. “I-I love you more than I could ever show or tell you. That's-That's why I can’t come back here.”

You furrowed your brows together, unable to wrap your head around what he was saying. 

He let out a heavy breath and ran a hand over his face. 

“I was stopped on the way through town last night. A group of men on horses. They told me that if they saw me come here ever again, they’d kill you.”

You brought your gaze down to your hands. Your village had never been kind to him, but recently a few newcomers demanded no beasts of any kind. Witchers fell into that category. 

“Y/N, I love you-,”

“Will you miss me?” You cut him off, your voice cracking.

The wall that Eskel had put up to make this easier came crashing down, crumbling to pieces. 

You were on the verge of tears because of him, because of what he was doing, because of his choices. The very thought of you crying because of him was enough to make him sick with himself. 

He moved to kneel down between your knees. You wouldn’t meet his gaze, diverting your eyes to the medallion on his chest. He cupped your face in his large hands, swiping a tear from your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. 

“More than you could ever know.” He murmured. 

You closed your eyes, a sob slipping past your lips, and you leaned forward to rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Please stay.”

“I can’t, doll. I can’t-I won’t risk your safety.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Then let me come with you.” Your hand found his chest, fisting the material of his tunic. 

Eskel said nothing. 

“I-I have nothing here. Without you, I am nothing.” 

“It wouldn’t be safe for you to come with me.” He started. “The Path is unsafe, and not just because of the monsters I hunt. The people, the humans, can be far worse than any ghoul or fiend I encounter. They are unkind to witchers and their company.”

You pulled away from him, needing to see his warm honey eyes.

“My life means nothing without you.” You whispered. 

“That isn’t true.” Eskel shook his head, his thumb trailing across the apple of your cheek. “You have so much to offer someone who is…. who is capable of giving you the life you deserve-,”

“I don’t want a husband with a boring life.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “I don’t want a boring life in a village full of arrogant pricks and judgemental assholes. I want you, Eskel. I am willing to take everything that comes with being yours. The months of separation, the dangers of enemies, the Path, all of it. Eskel, I am in love with you.” 

His lips parted as he took in a soft breath. Even after all these years, hearing you say those words out loud and with such passion left the witcher speechless. 

After a few moments, the faintest traces of a smile tugged at the scarred corner of his lips and he looked down shyly.

“I know. Don’t know how, but I know.”

“Then you know that all this talk about the dangers of traveling with you will do nothing to keep me away.” It was your turn to make him look at you, hooking two fingers beneath his chin and tilting his head up. “If you don’t want me anymore, then just tell me the truth. Be straightforward with me, Eskel.”

“I do want you.” His brows drew together softly. “Gods, Y/N, I want you more than anything.” 

Eskel leaned forward, his nose brushing along yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did the same. His fingers traced the side of your face. He smiled just a little when you took in a small shaky breath. 

“I’d never wish for more when you’re all I could’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Then don’t do this.” You told him, pulling yourself from the warmth of him and sitting back in your chair to look at him. “Let me come with you.”

He held your gaze for a few moments before nodding, smiling once more.

“Okay.”

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