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moonselune · 3 days ago

Note

Heyo! I was the one to send the ask about a Tav hiding their past from their companions and the romanced one realizing the other day. I forgot to add which romanced companions for the request 😅

Astarion, Karlach, or Shadowheart if that’s ok

No worries! I couldn't actually find the original ask as my inbox likes to snack on them so it worked out perfectly!

Karlach:

The two of you were sprawled out on a grassy hill, the stars blazing above like a million tiny promises of hope. Karlach, ever radiant, had her arms behind her head, her warm laughter still lingering in the cool night air after she'd recounted some ridiculous tale of a fight she'd gotten into years ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her—there was something about Karlach that was utterly disarming.

“Y’know,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at you, her face half-illuminated by starlight, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“That’s always dangerous,” you teased, earning a playful swat on the arm.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone soft but thoughtful now. “I realized... I don’t actually know much about you. Like, really know you.”

You tensed slightly, your smile fading, and she noticed immediately. Karlach wasn’t the type to miss when someone’s defenses went up—she was too attuned to cracks in the armor not to see it.

“I know you're amazing, and you're kind, and you’ve been through some stuff, but...you’ve always been pretty vague about your past. Why is that?”

“It’s not important,” you said quickly, brushing it off as if it were nothing. You turned your gaze back to the stars, hoping she’d let it go.

But Karlach wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“Not important? You’re important. What made you who you are is important,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent. “Come on, you know everything about me. You know about Zariel, the Hells, all of it. But you...you’ve got this wall around parts of yourself, and I don’t like not being able to reach you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Karlach, it’s...it’s not something I like to talk about, okay? Some things are better left buried.”

“But buried things tend to rot, love,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on your arm. “Please. Talk to me.”

You hesitated, staring at her hand on your arm. The warmth of her touch was grounding, comforting, and yet it made the ache in your chest all the more acute. When you finally looked at her, you saw nothing but patience and love in her eyes. And it broke you.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. She sat up too, waiting quietly, not rushing you.

“I grew up in a family that looked perfect from the outside,” you began, your voice low. “We had money, status—everything people think makes a family happy. But behind closed doors? It was a nightmare.”

Karlach said nothing, letting you continue at your own pace.

“My parents...they hated each other. And they weren’t exactly quiet about it. Every day was a war zone. Screaming matches, accusations, the kind of anger that seeps into everything. My siblings and I were caught in the crossfire, always trying to stay out of the way, always trying not to make things worse. But no matter what we did, it was never enough. Someone always got hurt, one way or another.”

You paused, your throat tightening as old memories clawed their way to the surface. Karlach reached out and took your hand, her grip firm but reassuring.

“And then,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “one day, it all fell apart. My older brother tried to leave—tried to get out of the hellhole we called home. My father...he didn’t take it well. There was a fight. Things got...violent. And my brother never made it out. After that, everything just...collapsed. I left too, eventually, but by then I’d lost everything that mattered. My family. My sense of who I was. All of it.”

You finally looked at her, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s why I don’t talk about it, Karlach. Because what’s the point? It’s just a mess I crawled out of, and I don’t want it to define me.”

For a moment, Karlach was silent, her expression a mix of astonishment and heartbreak. Then she shook her head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips.

“Damn,” she said softly. “You’re...incredible, you know that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“How are you so well-adjusted after all that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe. “Seriously. If it were me, I’d be a total wreck. But you...you’re strong. You’re kind. You’ve got this huge heart that somehow survived all that pain. It’s...it’s amazing.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled over, and before you could even think to hide them, Karlach was pulling you into her arms. Her infernal warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into someone else completely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just...I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured, her hand stroking your back soothingly. “I get it. I do. But I’m here now, okay? You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”

You clung to her like a lifeline, her warmth chasing away the chill of old wounds. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“I love you, you know,” Karlach said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes still glistening with tears. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of everything you’d just shared.

And as her lips met yours in a gentle, grounding kiss, you realized that maybe you didn’t have to bury your past anymore. Not with Karlach. Not ever again.

Shadowheart:

The two of you sat side by side on a quiet patch of forest floor, the campfire flickering in the distance as the night crept in around you. Shadowheart had been unusually quiet, her sharp eyes scanning the stars above before settling on your profile.

"You know," she started, her voice soft but probing, "for all the time we've spent together, I realize I don’t actually know much about you."

You blinked, glancing at her, caught off guard by the sudden turn in conversation. “What do you mean? You know plenty about me,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Do I? I know who you are now, sure. But your past? Where you come from? What made you...you? You’ve kept it all locked up tight.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s not important,” you muttered.

Shadowheart leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “Not important to who? Because it feels pretty important to me.”

Her persistence made you squirm, and you quickly stood, brushing off your clothes as if that would somehow shake the conversation away. “Shadowheart, I don’t—can we not do this right now?”

You started to walk away, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Alright. But I’ll find out eventually. You know I’m not one to let things go.” You glanced back at her, giving her a pointed look, but she just smiled sweetly, her tone deceptively innocent. “You’ll tell me, willingly or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. Still, you didn’t realize how serious she was about her little promise—until the next evening.

Shadowheart wasn’t just clever; she was sneaky. The next day, she found ways to chip away at your defenses. She asked questions that seemed harmless at first—what foods you liked, what your childhood home looked like, what kind of trouble you got into as a kid. Bit by bit, she pieced together fragments of your past until you realized too late that she’d woven a net around you.

It wasn’t until you were sitting by the riverbank after another grueling day of travel that she struck her final blow.

“So,” she said casually, dipping her fingers into the cool water, “was your family always so chaotic, or did the drama start later on?”

You froze, your stomach twisting as you realized she’d cornered you.

“What are you talking about?” you said, feigning ignorance.

Shadowheart smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, come on. I’ve been paying attention. The little things you’ve let slip, the way you dodge questions—it’s obvious there’s more to your story than you’re letting on. So, spill. What happened?”

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

She just smiled, her expression softening. “Only when it comes to things that matter. And you, my love, matter.”

Her words cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, the dam burst.

It all came tumbling out. The family drama that felt like a never-ending storm—arguments, betrayals, and secrets that tore your home apart. The tragedies that left scars too deep to heal. Scandals that painted your family in a light so harsh, you’d spent years trying to escape it.

But it wasn’t all darkness. You found yourself sharing the funny stories too—the times you and your siblings played pranks on each other, the little moments of joy that somehow shone through the chaos. You talked about the people you’d loved and lost, the lessons you’d learned, and the weight you still carried from it all.

By the time you were done, your throat was raw, and your chest felt hollow, like you’d just carved out a piece of yourself and handed it to her.

Shadowheart had been silent the whole time, her expression unreadable as she listened intently. When you finally looked at her, self-consciousness crept in like a cold shadow.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze. “That was...a lot. I probably should’ve kept some of it to myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said softly, her voice filled with a kind of reverence that made you look up in surprise.

Her eyes were shining, and there was an almost tangible warmth in her expression. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been through all of that,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon as if the weight of your past was hanging in the air between you. “And here you are—still standing, still fighting, still...you. It’s astonishing.”

You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. “I’m not incredible, Shadowheart. I’m just...getting by.”

“No,” she said firmly, leaning closer and taking your hand in hers. “You’re so much more than that. You’ve been through things that would break most people, and somehow, you’re still...kind. Still hopeful. Still...loving. I’m in awe of you, truly.”

Her words broke something else inside you—not in a painful way, but in a way that felt like healing. Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

Shadowheart cupped your face gently, brushing the tears away with her thumbs.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice steady and certain. “All of you. Your past, your present, your future. Every part of you.”

A shaky laugh escaped you as you leaned into her touch.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you as if she could shield you from the weight of your past. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

Astarion:

It was a quiet moment in camp, the kind of peace that always felt precarious, balanced on the knife's edge of your group's chaotic lives. Astarion was lounging next to you, his chin propped in his hand as he studied you with a curious intensity.

“You know,” he began casually, his voice dripping with charm and mischief, “for someone I’m hopelessly enamored with, you are a remarkably well-guarded mystery.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, already suspicious. “Am I?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he purred, sitting up straighter. “You’re practically a ghost when it comes to your past. You’ve danced around every question I’ve ever asked, dodging and deflecting like a master illusionist. Honestly, it’s impressive. I think I might even be proud of you.”

You smirked. “Well, thank you, but some things are better left in the past.”

Astarion let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ah, but darling, I hate being left in the dark. You can’t expect me to simply accept this vagueness when I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I don’t expect you to do anything. But I’m not telling you, Astarion.”

That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t. Over the next few days, Astarion’s curiosity morphed into relentless determination. He needled you at every opportunity, his charm turning into playful persistence. Every time you dodged his questions, he only seemed more delighted, like unraveling your secrets had become a personal challenge.

“You know,” he said one evening, leaning close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear, “this is getting downright insulting. Do you think I can’t handle a little drama? Please, I thrive on it.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

“And yet,” he countered, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary, “you still haven’t answered me. Come now, my sweet enigma—indulge me.”

Eventually, you snapped—not in anger, but in exasperation. Sitting by the fire that night, you threw up your hands. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Astarion’s eyes lit up like a child on their name day, and he settled in with a gleeful smirk, clearly expecting a story worth his persistence.

Blasé, almost flippant, you began to unravel the sordid tale of your past.

You told him about the family dinners that ended in shouting matches—or worse, murders over disputes that ran deeper than blood. You recounted the endless scandals: the illegitimate children, the betrayals that made even the most dramatic bardic tales look tame, the backstabbing that left no one unscathed. The drama unfolded like a grotesque tapestry, each thread more tangled and wild than the last.

Through it all, you remained indifferent, recounting events as if they had happened to someone else entirely. “And then there was the time my cousin poisoned the wine at a wedding. That was a mess. Oh, and the twins—turns out one of them wasn’t even my uncle’s child. But really, what did he expect when he married his mistress?”

Astarion sat in stunned silence, his lips slightly parted as you continued to nonchalantly recount the chaos of your upbringing.

“And, of course, there were the power struggles,” you added with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Everyone vying for control, alliances shifting faster than the wind. It’s all so...exhausting, really.”

When you finally finished, the fire crackled in the silence that followed. You looked at Astarion, expecting...something. Disbelief? Judgment?

Instead, he burst into delighted laughter.

“Oh, my dear, dear love,” he said, clutching his chest as if he might collapse from mirth. “You’re right—it does sound like a poorly written bardic tale. But gods, what a deliciously awful one!”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you it wasn’t worth hearing.”

“Are you joking?” he asked, still laughing. “It’s magnificent! The drama! The intrigue! And you—you just walked away from all of that and turned into...well, you. It’s incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re impressed by all of that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, leaning closer, his expression softening into something genuine. “You survived a storm of madness and somehow emerged as the person I’ve fallen utterly in love with. How could I not be impressed?”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincerity, but before you could respond, his grin turned wicked.

“Although,” he added, “you simply must take me to your next family dinner. I need to witness this circus for myself.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance. They’d eat you alive.”

“Darling,” Astarion purred, his voice dripping with confidence, “I’ve been surrounded by vampires for two centuries. I think I can handle a few backstabbing relatives.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Astarion leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, his hand brushing yours in a silent promise.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “For trusting me with this. It means more than you know.”

awh this was wholesome, as someone who comes from a chaotic ass family this was cathartic to write aha. Hope you guys enjoyed it -Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate iii #karlach x reader #karlach x tav #karlach imagines #bg3 imagines #bg3 karlach #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x tav #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart imagines #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion

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crushpunky · 2 days ago

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rafe cameron x kook!reader thoughts !!! UPDATED

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

rafe and y/n have been friends since childhood, their parents being good family friends, but grew closer following the death of rafe’s mother and y/n's brother while they were both in high school.

whereas rafe gravitated more towards drugs and partying to cope with the loss of his mother, y/n gravitated more towards rafe.

y/n was definitely more “polished” than rafe and kept a fairly good reputation despite constantly hanging out with the kook king. however, that didn’t mean she was always such a role model, smoking the occasional blunt or getting hammered at the boneyard.

whenever one of the two was invited to some big event, the other was forced to go along with them. if one of them was going to have to suffer through hours of stuffy small talk, they would both have to. it didn’t really matter too much though, most of the time they would end up sneaking off to walk along the beach or smoke.

as they grew older, and rafe’s addictions grew stronger, y/n tried multiple times to convince him to get clean. he’d always promise, but then that weekend she’d see him doing another line.

they had fought multiple times about rafe’s dangerous behavior, typically ending with him saying something out of line and y/n leaving, telling him to talk to her when he figures his shit out

no matter how mad they were at each other, the time apart was excruciating. eventually, whether a few hours or a week depending on how bad their fight was, one of them would show up at the others house with coffee and an understood apology between them (usually rafe)

y/n first realized her feelings towards rafe when they were young, before his mother or her brother had died. she fell in love with the boy that made her laugh or played soccer with wheezie in the backyard of tanneyhill or chewed on the top of his pencil when he did his homework

after the death of his mother, rafe changed, but y/n's feelings for him didn't. she still cared so much for him, but seeing him descend into the depths of his addiction terrified her

rafe didn't realize his feelings for y/n until he watched her at a party in high school, really looking at her. watching the way she would smile as she spoke or waved her hands as she told a story excitedly or how she always listened so intently as anyone spoke... but as soon as he came to the realization how he felt about her, he also knew he had to keep them a secret. he couldn't do anything about them. he couldn't risk affecting her with his anger and violence and rage. so he got high. really high.

the night rafe realized his feelings for y/n was the first night he'd ever overdosed. topper and kelce had tried to talk him down, his paranoia intensifying as he begged them to not let y/n see him like this. once y/n found him, though, she was finally able to talk him down enough to take him home. once he fell asleep after hours of him pacing around the house, she sobbed. sobbed the hardest she had since her brother died.

rafe knew every time he relapsed killed her, but he found himself falling back into old habits each time. the drugs and sex and alcohol were the only things that numbed the thoughts and feelings he had that terrified himself.

as much as seeing him like this hurt her, y/n couldn't give up on him. so she stayed. she stayed when he would yell at her or ignore her for weeks, when he'd be cruel or erratic, because every so often, she'd see glimpses of the boy she fell in love with and that made it worth it.

overtime, rafe realized that maybe he didn't have to hide all of his feelings. maybe he could let her in, allow her close, while still keeping her a safe distance away. maybe that closeness was enough to dull the cravings for getting high or drunk out of his mind. maybe that closeness was the thing he really needed this whole time... and maybe that was what she needed too.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

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galacticseonghwa · 3 days ago

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a book like love - mark lee

INCLUDES ! — non idol!bf mark x fem!reader, just straight fluff because i miss mark and i see him on sunday, lmk if i've missed anything else AUTHORS NOTE ! — my friend helped me with writing this one, she doesn't have tumblr though so heartbreak, not proofread!

the sun was beginning its descent behind the sleek modern architecture of the Starfield Library in Seoul, casting long golden rays through the massive glass windows. Inside, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched like endless towers of knowledge, the quiet hum of soft footsteps echoing in the air. It was a typical late afternoon, but for mark and y/n, this moment felt anything but ordinary.

mark was lounging in one of the cozy chairs near the top floor’s balcony. His legs were crossed, a book propped up in one hand, but his attention was on y/n. his eyes were drawn to y/n, who was skimming through a shelf of romance books on the shelf in front of him

she didn’t know he was watching her. she rarely did, and that was just one of the many things he loved about her. y/n had this quiet, unassuming way of being like she was always in her own world, focused, intent on whatever she was doing, but completely present in the moment.

y/n had this gentle grace when she moved, and as she reached up to pull a thick book off the shelf, mark couldn’t help but smile and chuckle softly to himself. y/n's hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. she looked effortlessly beautiful, she always did.

it's been three years since they'd met, since they'd walked into this very library for the first time, two nervous 21-year-olds both obsessed with books, one obsessed with manga or anything spider-man related and the other with romance. it was there, amid the stacks of poetry, that they'd found each other.

he first noticed her when she bumped into him in the crime section, her book flying out of her hands and landing right at his feet. she apologised over and over, a deep pink blush colouring her cheeks. they laughed it off, and after a while, their shared love of books drew them back to the library every week. they studied together, talked about dreams, books, and everything in between. eventually, that awkward friendship blossomed into something more.

y/n glanced up from her book and caught his gaze. her face lit up instantly, that warm smile spreading across her lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

she made her way over to him, the sound of her soft footsteps making him feel like he was living in a dream.

“are you going to keep reading that book, or should we go grab a drink?” she asked, her voice as soft and soothing.

mark slowly set the book down with a soft grin. “i’d rather have you in my arms.” he said and gently pulled her closer to him.

y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but mark could see the blush creeping up her neck. she always did that, pretending to be embarrassed by his cheesy lines, but he knew better than anyone that she liked it. he had a way of making her heart flutter, just like she did to him.

“i should have known you'd say something like that,” she teased, sitting down next to him on the plush chair. her scent, a mixture of rose and strawberry, wrapped around him like a warm hug. he promised to breathe her in forever.

mark leans closer to her and places his hand on her thigh, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of her jeans. he smiles up at her and places a soft kiss on her neck.

they sat there for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet and each other’s presence. it wasn’t often they had moments like this just the two of them, surrounded by books, a world of possibilities and quiet joy.

“so, what’s next for us?” mark asked softly, his voice almost a whisper as he glanced at the horizon through the window, his hand never leaving her thigh. the sky was streaked with pink and orange as the sun set, and for a moment, the entire world felt still.

y/n's smile softened, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “what do you mean, markie?”

he turned to look at her, his hand instinctively brushing her hair back. “i mean… we’re 25 now. we’re no longer in school anymore. what do we do now? what’s our next chapter?”

y/n smiled, her eyes closing as she savoured the quiet moment. “i think we’re already writing it. this is our next chapter.”

her words brought a contented sigh from him. of course, they were already living it. their life, right here, right now, together, was perfect. they didn’t need to have all the answers right now. all that mattered was that they had each other.

“do you ever think about the future?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as if he was revealing a hidden vulnerability.

“most of the time,” y/n said, her voice steady and reassuring. “but i think... i think the future will always be uncertain. the important part is that we’re in it together. i’m happy with you, mark. wherever we go, whatever we do... as long as you’re by my side.”

he reached over to take her hand in his, his fingers threading through hers. there was a sense of peace in that touch, a promise that no matter where life took them, they would always be together.

“i’m happy with you too, baby” he whispered. “More than I’ve ever been with anything or anyone else in my life.”

y/n smiled softly, her eyes shining with the kind of love that made mark feel like the luckiest man alive.

the library around them continued to hum with soft conversations and the rustling of pages, but to them, the world seemed to stop. there was no rush, no pressing need to be anywhere else. they were in this moment, wrapped up in the quiet, safe in their love.

“so, baby,” mark said after a moment, letting her hand go and squeezing her thigh lightly. “how about that drink, hmm?”

“hmm,” y/n hummed, looking up at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “only if you promise not to say any more cheesy things for the rest of the day.”

he laughed softly. “i can’t make that promise, but i can promise to make you laugh.”

her eyes twinkled as she leaned in and kissed him gently making him smile against her lips. “deal.”

together, they stood, hands still intertwined, and made their way toward the elevator, leaving the serenity of the library behind them for a while. but as they stepped into the bustling streets of Seoul, surrounded by the noise and energy of the city, they both knew they had everything they needed.

they had each other, and that was more than enough.

the warmth of the coffee shop was a welcoming relief from the cold winter outside. mark and y/n settled into a corner booth, their mugs of coffee steaming between them. y/n curled her hands around her cup, her fingers gently tracing the edge as she gazed at mark, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“do you ever think about the past?” she asked, her voice contemplative.

mark raises an eyebrow. “the past?”

“yeah,” she says, her eyes softening. “like… when we first met. back in the library.”

mark leans back in his chair, taking a long sip from his mug. the memory felt like it belonged to another lifetime. “i think about it all the time. how nervous i was to even talk to you. how much i wanted to ask you out but didn’t have the courage to do so.”

y/n laughs softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “i was so nervous too. i thought you were way out of my league.”

“out of your league? me?” mark babbles surprised. “i was a mess. you have this way of making everything seem so effortless.”

they both fell into a quiet moment, reminiscing about the small, awkward beginnings of their relationship. from that first, fumbled encounter in the library to the late-night study sessions, their connection had grown with each passing day. what had started as friendship had blossomed into something deeper, something unspoken but undeniably strong.

“i think we’ve come a long way since then” y/n says softly, her voice full of affection for the man in front of her.

“yeah,” mark hums, his eyes locking with hers. “and i can’t wait for what’s to come.”

mark reaches across the table, placing his hand in hers. “we’ll write it together. just like we’ve been doing all along. the story of y/n and mark”

and in that moment, as they sat together in the coffee shop, mark knew that no matter where their lives led them, they would always have each other. their love, like the books in the library, would continue to fill the pages of their story, one chapter at a time.

TAGLIST ! — @sinisxtea @wonwootakemyheart @injunnie-lemon @haechology @sk8mrk

#galacticseonghwa #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nctzen #mark lee #nct mark #nct mark lee #mark fluff #mark fic #mark lee fluff

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antinousletmehit · 5 hours ago

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Just imagen reader making a flower crown for telemachus (odyssey version) and convinced him to wear for the day (he's just going to take it off when reader isn't around cause he would maybe be lowkey embarrassed)

୨୧┇pairing: odyssey!telemachus x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Telemachus crossed his arms, glaring at the flower crown you had just finished placing on his head. The soft petals of pink and white blossoms rested awkwardly against his messy hair, a stark contrast to his usual rugged, war practiced demeanor. “There,” you said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire him. “You look so adorable.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a scowl. “Adorable?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “I’m not a child, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, already used to his grumpy attitude. “You’re not a child, but you are my lover. Which is why you’re going to wear that for the rest of the day. Promise me, Telemachus.”

He sighed dramatically, reaching up to adjust the crown that now felt like it was burning into his scalp. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do,” you said firmly, poking his chest with your finger. “You’re wearing it, and you’re going to look great in it. No arguments.”

“Fine,” he muttered, glaring at the ground. But as soon as you turned to leave, his face shifted into a full grimace. He tugged at the flower crown slightly, testing how easily it could come off. Once you were out of sight, he groaned and yanked it off his head, tossing it onto a nearby table like it was cursed. “What am I, some kind of garden ornament?” he grumbled to himself. “A flower crown. Of all things. Gods, she’s lucky I like her.”

For a moment, he stared at the crown, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. But the thought of being seen by anyone—anyone—while wearing it sent shivers down his spine. He could already hear the mocking laughter from the men in the palace. “Nice crown, prince! Did your lover braid it for you? Going to battle with petals, are we?”

“Nope. Not happening,” he said firmly.

The rest of the afternoon passed with Telemachus carefully avoiding the room where the flower crown lay abandoned, all while grumbling under his breath about how “ridiculous” the whole thing was. When you returned later, the first thing you noticed was his bare head. “Telemachus,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Where’s the crown?”

He froze, guilt flashing across his face for a moment before he covered it with a haughty expression. “Oh, that thing? I, uh… took it off. It didn’t suit me.”

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped. “You took it off? After you promised me you’d wear it all day?”

“Well, yeah,” he said with a shrug, crossing his arms. “It was embarrassing. I’m not walking around looking like a floral bouquet just so you can have a laugh.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “It wasn’t for me to laugh at, Telemachus! I made it for you because I thought it would look nice on you! Because I thought you’d appreciate it!”

He flinched at the hurt in your voice, but his pride refused to let him back down. “Well, maybe next time make something less… humiliating.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “You know what? Fine. I won’t make you anything ever again.”

You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” For the rest of the evening, Telemachus sat in the quiet space, the flower crown still sitting on the table where he had left it. Every time he looked at it, he felt a twinge of guilt. Eventually, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Maybe I was a little harsh,” he muttered to himself, picking up the flower crown. When you returned the next morning, you found him sitting at the table, the flower crown perched on his head. He looked up at you sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Look,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I… I was a…bit rude… yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “And?”

“And… the crown isn’t that bad,” he admitted grudgingly, avoiding your gaze. “It’s actually… kind of nice.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you walked over and adjusted the crown on his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re groveling, Telemachus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

#the odyssey #telemachus x reader #telemachus #odyssey!telemachus #greek mythology x reader #greek mythology #telemachus of ithaca

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nevereclipse · 15 hours ago

Text

father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

----

“Officer Y/l/n, you’re assigned to Sergeant Bradford.” Sergeant Grey was standing at the front of roll call, having just asked you to introduce yourself to your new coworkers. It was your first day as a rookie at Mid-Wilshire, and your stomach was alive with nerves.

“Yes, sir.” You responded, sitting back in your chair.

“Alright everyone, you’re dismissed,” Grey continued, “Stay safe out there.”

Immediately, Sergeant Bradford was out of his seat and walking towards you, his face stony. You’d been warned about him by a… Officer Chen? You couldn’t really remember her name. Still, she’d warned you about his ‘Tim Tests’ and gruff demeanour. It wasn’t helping your nerves.

“Boot! Let’s go.” Bradford snapped, gesturing you over with a flick of two fingers. You smoothed your uniform and walked over. You forced a smile onto your face, wanting to make a good impression.

“Sir, I’m-,” you started.

“Save it, boot.” Sergeant Bradford cut you off. “You will address me as only Bradford, Sergeant Bradford or Sir. Is that understood?”

You nodded, the nerves settling comfortably in your stomach. Bradford was clearly not planning to calm your worries. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go grab the warbags and meet me at the shop.” Bradford nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the supply room, and you hurried off to prepare the war bags. The last thing you needed was to make a bad impression on someone who was already making you nervous.

---

Tim watched you hurriedly walk to the war room to set up. As he watched you go, Angela Lopez approached.

“So, what do you think of the new blood?” Lopez asked, gesturing (albeit unnecessarily) behind you.

“Too soon to say.” Tim replied, crossing his arms as he turned to Angela.

“Come on, Bradford, you always know right away.” Angela pushed, nudging Tim’s side.

Tim couldn’t deny that. He had a knack for knowing whether someone would be a good fit for policework – it was why he was an excellent TO.

Still, he paused, considering. “She’s… eager.” He hedged. It was true, to a degree. You did seem eager. But he could tell there was something more bubbling under the surface.

“Uh huh.” Lopez grinned, “Don’t be a total dick today, yeah?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder just as you walked out of the storeroom carrying the war bags. “No promises.”

---

Office Chen had been right. Sergeant Bradford was extremely intimidating. You’d graduated third at the Academy, and you knew you were good (well, competent at least), but some part of you was still constantly second guessing. Maybe it was Bradford’s height and build, or his permanently pissed off energy but an hour into your shift and you were scared. Not of him (not really), but of what’d happen when you inevitably screwed up. You’d tried to chat initially, but it hadn’t gone down well.

“So. Why do you want to be a cop?” Bradford asked as he pulled off West Olympic.

After an hour of near-silence, since Bradford had firmly proclaimed that the shop was a personal-life-free zone, the question surprised you. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. If I’m going to train you, I need to know why you’re in this car.” Bradford didn’t even look at you as he drove, instead scanning the streets around you.

You looked out your window for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Not without revealing way more about yourself then you wanted to on your first shift. Then you wanted too ever, really. “Um.” You swallowed. “I know it’s… basic, but I want to help people.” You hedged. “People who don’t have anyone else to-.”

The shop screeched to a halt, and you were suddenly cut off by Bradford yelling: “I’VE BEEN SHOT! WHERE ARE YOU, BOOT?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- you didn’t know. “Um…” You looked around, trying desperately to find a street sign, or some clue as to where you were. After a few more seconds, you heard Bradford scoff.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.” He didn’t even look mad. Just completed blank. That was almost more nerve racking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” You started, hating the way your voice shook.

“Not good enough, Boot!” Tim’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through the silence of the shop. “Apologies don’t save lives, rookie. Get out.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said get out and walk, boot. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

In that moment, you knew you’d ruined it. This had been your chance to be a cop, and less than two hours in, you’d already fucked it up. You got out of the shop, walking along side it. Hoping Bradford didn’t notice how your legs had shaken as you left. You wouldn’t let yourself be upset by this. Bradford was just doing his job, you were perfectly safe. From him, anyway.

Still, when you finally got back in the shop, you didn’t talk again. All your focus went towards scanning your surroundings.

---

Your legs had shaken when you got out of the car. It was subtle, but Tim had noticed it. Unbidden, a touch of guilt settled in his stomach. He honestly hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just a Tim Test – he didn’t need (nor want) you to be scared. It was hardly conducive to training a good rookie.

What bothered him most, though, is your complete silence the rest of the day. You’d been annoying chatty the first twenty odd minutes of your shift (until Tim had, in traditional Bradford fashion, banned any sort of personal talk), but since getting back in the car, you’d stuck strictly to ‘yes, sir’s and ‘no, sir’s. It had been… unnerving.

Tim didn’t like changing his training style. After all, after half a dozen rookies, he liked to think that he’d perfected his TO methods. Everyone knew that he was an exceptional training officer. The only people he ever made exceptions for were veterans like him. But the thought of scaring you every time he yelled made his stomach drop in an unpleasant way. You’d been so eager when you’d first gotten in the shop – nervous, sure, but eager. And you were so, so young. You reminded him of himself in a way.

In the way you’d immediately changed he’d yelled, which even Tim could admit would’ve been… slightly scary. And that change had implications, ones Tim didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the implication of what that made him to you. A threat. So he’d never mention it, but he did quietly resolve to adjust – adjust, not change – the way he made sure you learnt what you needed too.

---

A few weeks into your training and Sergeant Bradford had significantly lowered on your rating of ‘scary people I know.’ While he was still harsh, and quick to criticise, he’d never shown you that cold, disappointment-infused yelling that he had on your first shift. It’d made it a lot easier for you to get comfortable around him, and you’d almost immediately started breaking the ‘no personal talk in the shop’ rule.

“Anyway, then she said that I was the one who needed to check my attitude. I mean can you believe that? Me? Having an attitude?” You said, watching your surroundings (you hadn’t forgotten your first Tim Test) as you rambled about some woman you’d run into grocery shopping.

At your comment, Bradford simply side-eyed you. He did that a lot, you were realising.

“Rude. That’s rude.” You said in response to the side eye. “It gets worse, though. She had the audacity-.”

Bradford held up a hand, cutting you off. “Boot.”

You turned, “Yes, sir?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You shut your mouth, but that was mostly to hold back a slight laugh. Bradfords hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, but they weren’t white like they were when you really needed to shut up. (You’d always been observant.)

“But this is the best part of the story.” You pressed.

“Boot, I swear to god-.” Before Bradford could issue whatever threat, he planned too, someone’s voice crackled over the radio.

“7-Adam-100, we have a domestic call at 4195 Clover Drive. Neighbours reported shouting.”

Tim’s face hardened. He glanced briefly at you, and you knew, even without a mirror, that your face had paled a shade. You’d been lucky so far to not have to deal with any DV calls. Guess that luck was over.

“7-Adam-100, show us responding, Code 6.”

Tim floored the breaks a little harder than he objectively needed too.

You could hear the yelling as soon as you pulled into Clover Drive. It was distinctly male, the words harsh and clear, and coming from a house halfway down the street.

It was an effort to clear your head.

“What’s the procedure for a domestic call, boot?” Asked Bradford as you switched off your sirens and approached the house.

You swallowed, “Um. Get inside the house to assess any damage. Separate the assumed predominant aggressor from the presumed victim or any children if possible. If there doesn’t appear to be violence, there isn’t much we can do, though.”

Bradford nodded tightly. “Good. I’ll take lead on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

You knocked on the front door as Bradford called out, alerting the occupants to the polices presence. The yelling stopped immediately.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Asked a man, probably in his forties. You and Bradford pushed your way into the house as you spoke with him. There was water spilt across the countertop, and a girl in her early teens standing in the kitchen. Her face was tear-streaked, but she appeared unharmed.

“We got reports of yelling from this area, sir.” Came Bradford’s voice from behind you. Your head was starting to spin as memories flooded back to you: late nights, angry words, the occasional smashed plate. Or worse.

You didn’t hear what the man (you assumed he was the girl father) said in response. The teen was watching you and Tim with wide eyes, shaking her head. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, and if you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you would’ve thought to ask to see if she was injured. You turned to her father and vaguely registered that he was wearing a wife beater under his button up. Ironic.

“Let’s go, boot.” Bradford snapped, beckoning you over. His jaw was set, and he obviously didn’t believe whatever the man had said. Your head felt like it was underwater as you walked out of the house, and your stomach turned. Memories flooded your head.

Bradford was grumbling under his breath, something about hating the laws around DV in California, when he noticed you stumble towards the bushes outlining the road.

“You good, boot?” He asked, frowning something.

You nodded frantically, “Mmhm… fine, si-.” The ‘sir’ was cut off by the sound of you throwing up in the bushes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing really came out, but still you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

“Shit, Y/l/n, are you okay?” Instantly, Tim was at your side, one hand on your back. You nodded vaguely, gesturing for a drink of water. He almost ran to get it. When you could finally breathe, and had swallowed nearly half a litre of water, he asked,

“Jesus, boot, what the hell was that?”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, not wanting to get into some conversation about your past: Bradford wasn’t the understanding type. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Bradford snapped, guiding you back to the shop. His words were harsh, but his touch gentle. A strange combination, but one that left you feeling comforted. “Listen, boot, if you’ve got something that’s going to make you react to scenes like that, I need to know. Now.”

You shook your head frantically, refusing to open up. As much as you were starting to trust Bradford, you weren’t ready to give him that information. Not when he was the age he was, the build he was, holding so much authority over you

“It’s fine, sir. I swear. It won’t happen again.” You repeated, and you meant it. It wouldn’t happen again.

Tim surveyed you for a moment, watching the guarded expression in your eyes. It was one he recognised, having seen it in his reflection countless times after teachers asked about a suspicious bruise. It was for that reason he relented, though he fully intended to bring it up again. “Fine. But if have something you need to tell me… you can, kid.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

More time passed, and even though you still refused to open about your childhood to Tim (how do you even have that conversation?), you were starting to rely on him.

It was inevitable, you supposed. Unrequited, but inevitable. After all, he was in his mid-forties, an authority figure, admittedly a bit of a dick, but you were gradually (ever so gradually) starting to see a slightly gentler side of him. So of course you looked up to him. You had daddy issues, okay?

It wasn’t a crush. You knew that for sure. You’d half expected it to be, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a healthy dose of admiration, paired with a slightly-less-healthy dose of please god be proud of me. But that was fine. It was entirely reasonable given he was your TO. You hoped.

---

“You’re under arrest for attempted grand theft auto and possession of illicit substances,” you said, hooking handcuffs around some criminal’s wrists. He’d been a pain in the ass to catch, and you could already feel a bruise blooming across your jaw from his escape attempts. Bradford had, predictably, been unhelpful in the arrest, instead opting to analyse your fighting technique as you’d taken the crook down. He’d even cracked a rare ‘good job’ smile as you’d put the cuffs on.

You pushed the perp against your shop, already halfway through the Miranda Rights: “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

The thief mumbled slightly, and you nodded to Tim to take him off your hands. The second your hands were off him, however, he started complaining. Loudly.

“Aw, come on man. If you’re gonna arrest me, at least let the lady cop throw me ‘round.” He said, looking over his shoulder to grin at you. You scrunched your nose. It wasn’t the first time a suspect had hit on you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Nothin’? Dude, you gotta… I ain’t going to jail without gettin’ to feel some sweet lady cop ti-! Ow! The hell was that for?”

Tim scowled, hitting the suspect over the back of the head a second time for good measure (or something). “Get your eyes off Officer Y/l/n. You’re not fit to look at her.” He shoved the perp into your shop, rougher than was strictly necessary, and you couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face.

“Really?” You asked, slipping into the shop’s passenger seat.

“What? You got a problem, boot?” Tim said, his voice flat. You just chuckled and shook your head.

“No problem, sir.”

---

The silence in the shop was unbearable. It was almost lunch, and you’d scarcely said a word all day. You were preoccupied replaying your conversation with your parents from the night before over and over in your head, trying to figure out how them coming over for dinner had dissolved into fighting so quickly.

“You good, boot?” Tim asked after a particularly long stretch of quiet. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up, but you’ve barely said a word today.”

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m fine, sir. Sorry. Just tired. Besides, not personal talk in the shop, right?”

“When have you ever followed that rule? You sure you’re good, boot? Because if something’s going on that’ll affect your performance, I need to know.”

“Nothing’s going on. Sir.” You knew the words sounded thin, but what were you going to do? Complain about your parents?

Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. ��Uh-huh. In that case, what colour was the Lexus we just passed?”

Shit. You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, too lost in your own thoughts. “Uh… silver?”

Another side eye, this one harsher than the last. “There was no Lexus. It was a Camry. And for the record, boot, it was blue.”

“I…” You didn’t really have a defence.

“Seriously, kid. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You said, and you had to admit, you sounded like a kid. “I just. Had my parents over last night, and it didn’t… go great.”

Instantly, Tim was on edge. He wasn’t proud of the reaction, of the way his stomach instinctively dropped. He knew, he knew, that his version of ‘it didn’t go great’ with family wasn’t the same as most people’s. But this was you. You who’d thrown up at your first DV call, even without any violence. You who’d completely shut down after being yelled at.

Which is why he couldn’t help the immediate questions if: “Are you hurt?”

You tensed. Why would he ask that? “No,” you replied, “I’m not hurt.” It was true, technically. You hadn’t been hit since you were fifteen. And even then, it’d been rare.

Tim’s eyes flicked over you, trying to find a lie. “What happened?” He asked, and his voice had a weird gentleness that made you feel... strange.

You swallowed. Shrugged. “My parents came over for dinner. I did something, I don’t really know what, ‘n pissed my father off.” Your explanation was purposeful vague, but you could help but add: “He broke my favourite mug, which really pissed me off. It’s my apartment, you know? He’s not supposed to be able to break my shit anymore.” A long pause, your father’s furious insults running through your head. “He didn’t like it when I told him that.”

Tim nodded slightly, knowing exactly what you were suggesting. “He insult you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite your cool delivery, the words stung. You looked away, out the window, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You didn’t like talking about this, especially not with Tim. Just because you viewed him as... something, didn’t mean he thought of you ask anything more than a rookie he had to train. A burden.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Tim said, assessing you carefully. “I know what that feels like.”

“You do?” You looked at Tim, curious, and instantly regretted it. The tears welling in your eyes were all too obvious now.

“Yeah. My dad was like that too. I got slapped around my fair share.” Tim’s words were clipped. He clearly also wasn’t fond of talking about his childhood.

“Oh.” What else could you say?

“Listen, boot. I know it’s rough. And you don’t deserve it. But you’re not whatever he says you are, okay?”

You sniffled, hastily wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Tim nodded tersely. “Good.” There was a small moment, where Tim placed a hand on your shoulder, and you felt like things might actually be okay. Like you might actually have someone. Then, “Come on, boot. We’ve got six hours of shift left. You gonna focus now?”

---

Tim kept an eye on you the rest of the day. He’d known there was a bit of him in you, but the parallels between your childhoods made his heart crack.

He could see the countless untold stories behind your eyes, ones he’d undoubtedly heard before. And the way you’d tensed when he asked if you were hurt... you hadn’t been hit last night, but you had been before.

He really had tried to not get attached.

And look. He knew you looked up to him. He’d seen the way you preened at praise, the shaky look over to him after making a decision, waiting for his nod of approval, regardless of how confident you were in the decision. He’d tried not to encourage it – limiting praise, refusing to approve your decisions unless you did first. It wasn’t good for a rookie to get that attached to their TO, not when they were only partners for a year. It was especially not good for them to view them as some sort of parental figure. More importantly, Tim Bradford didn’t get attached to his boots.

But goddammit it. The look in your eyes when he’d told you about his dad? It made him abandon all the principles he thought he held so strongly. He’d always wanted a kid, after all.

---

“Does anyone know what day it is today?” Sergeant Grey asked from the front of the roll call room.

You groaned internally. Of course he had to announce it to the whole it room.

A few rows behind you, Officer Chen perked up, grinning, you were sure, at Bradford.

“The day Officer Y/l/n takes her six month exam.” She said.

Cheers and whistles filled the room and you almost buried your head in your hands.

“Boot!” Tim called out. You turned to look at him. “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you don’t get more than a 93 on this exam.”

Great. Like you weren’t stressed enough about the exam already. “Yes, sir.”

As Grey tried to calm the room down, you swallowed, focusing on calming your breathing. You knew what you were doing. You just had to not disappoint Tim. Not forget everything. Not be a total fucking failure.

No pressure, right?

---

Three days later, and you were back in roll call. Grey had written three numbers on the white board. An 84. A 91. And a 95. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the 91 and the 84. Of course you’d failed. Of course. Why hadn’t you worked harder? You’d been a straight A student in high school, and university, why was this different?

“Can anyone guess which of these belongs to Officer Y/l/n?” Grey asked the room. Various answers were shouted out, most leaning towards the 95, until Grey cut them off and said: “The 91. Good work, Officer.”

You could only nod, your head already pounding. You’d failed. Not really, not truly, but enough. And Tim. What would he do?

You didn’t notice everyone leave the room. Didn’t notice Tim approach you, not until he was practically having to shout in your face.

“Boot? Boot! Y/l/n!” The sound of your name, paired with Tim waving a hand in your face, snapped you back to reality.

“Yes, sir?” Your voice had an almost unnoticeable tension to it. A shake. Please, please don’t be mad.

“Let’s go, boot. Why aren’t you getting the war bags?” Tim asked, completely ignoring your test results.

Completely ignoring your test results? What? Why wasn’t he yelling, reaming you out for disappointing him? He’d been very clear with his expectations and he’d never been one to let you down gently if you did something wrong.

“Sir?” You asked, confused.

“What is it, boot?” Tim asked, exasperated. You should’ve been on the road by now. Wait, where you okay...? Your eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad-..? Oh.” Tim looked down at you, his face softening as he recalled what he’d said before your test. What you’d told him about your past. “About your test? No, kid, I’m not mad. I was screwing with you when I said you needed to get a 93. A 91 is an excellent result, boot “

“Oh.” You said quietly, looking away sheepishly. Of course he wasn’t mad. This was Tim.

Tim looked at you like you were an idiot, but somehow, you didn’t feel stupid or insulted. “Yeah, oh. You’re not a disappointment, kid. Not to me. Now hurry up and get the war bags sorted.” Tim clapped you on the shoulder as he sent you on your way, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what a father was supposed to be like.

---

“Red or black?” You asked Tim during one shift a month or so later. It was a random question, but you wanted his opinion.

Tim glanced at you. “As concepts, or…?”

“As dress colours.” You elaborated, before hesitantly adding, “I have a date.”

The shop skidded to a stop. “Woah, woah. You have a date? When? With who?” Tim was turning instantly, all his attention on you.

You bit back a laugh. “Tonight. With a boy. Jacob. And I don’t know what to wear.”

Tim frowned. “Where did you meet this ‘Jacob?’” He couldn’t help the protective instinct. The last time one of his rookies went on a date, she got kidnapped. And you weren’t Lucy (he wasn’t in love with you) but he did… care.

“At a bookshop. Calm your farm, Bradford. It’s one date. You really pulling the protective dad card right now?” You smirked, watching the slight red colour Tim’s face.

“I- no. I’m not pulling a card, boot. I’m just… curious.” Tim spluttered, not wanting to admit that he was definitely acting like a protective dad.

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy, Sarge. He’s funny, and sweet, and I actually like him.” You said, as if the concept of actually liking a guy was foreign. It had admittedly been a while since you went on a date. “So, red or black?” You repeated, crossing your arms. Your cheeks were the tiniest bit pink.

Tim glared from the corner of his eye. “Black.”

“Thank you.”

In signature Bradford fashion, Tim huffed and simply said, “For the record, I still don’t like this whole ‘date’ thing, boot.”

---

The date was a success. So much of a success, in fact, that three dates later, Jacob came to pick you up after work the next day. It was adorable, and he showed up with fresh flowers and a planned date, and it would’ve been perfect, if you hadn’t been leaving the station with Officer Bradford.

The same Bradford who’d been demanding more information about “this Jacob person” ever since you’d first mentioned a date.

So, while you were excited about the date, you weren’t thrilled at seeing Jacob stand in front of you, levelled by one of Tim’s many practiced glares.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. He knew exactly who he was.

“I’m Jacob…?” Your boyfriend said hesitantly, trying to figure out why the man in front of him was staring at him so intimidatingly.

You winced and jumped in quickly. “Jake, this is Tim. My TO?”

Recognition clicked quickly in Jacob’s eyes. He instantly stuck out a hand to Tim, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh huh.” Tim raked his eyes over Jacobs outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. “You got a last name, Jacob?”

“Anderson.” Jacob supplied immediately, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

“What do you do, Anderson? If you say screenwriter, you’re going in a cell.”

Jacob chuckled. “I’m a teacher, sir.” Tim didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look totally disgusted either. Which, to you, was a win.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt Y/n?” Jacob asked with a barely contained grin.

Tim glowered. “Yes. In fact, consider this your one and only warning. Hurt her, and I’ll find a way to make you spend the rest of your life in a cell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest, and God you were glad he’d never given you that look before.

Pitying your partner, you jumped in and placed yourself between the two most important men in your life. “Oookay, Bradford, chill. We’re going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, sir?”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Boot.” Tim’s words came out tense, and he didn’t take his eyes off you until you were well out of the carpark.

---

The day had arrived. You’d officially been a police officer for an entire year. You weren’t a rookie anymore.

It was everything you’d dreamed of it being.

“Finally, congratulations to Officer Y/l/n for completing the FTO program and surviving her rookie year. Welcome, officially, to the team, Y/l/n.” Grey walked over to you, shaking your hand proudly. “Good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.” You beamed, returning the handshake. Grey dismissed the rest of roll call, and you walked out of the room. You could barely make it a few steps without someone grabbing you, hugging you or congratulating you in some way. You’d never been happier.

You reached the edge of the room and were met with Sergeant Bradford, a rare smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Y/l/n.” He said, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t even try.” You said, knocking his hand out of the way and pulling him into a hug. It was unprofessional, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Aside from your boyfriend, Tim had managed to become one of the most important people in your life over the past year.

Tim froze for a moment, but gently returned the hug, patting your back a couple times. You thought you heard Harper snicker from across the room. You definitely heard Lucy say the word ‘Dadford.’ She wasn’t… entirely wrong. You had found a father in Tim. Maybe one day he’d even admit it – in actual words, not just actions. You still laughed every time you thought about his interrogation of Jacob when they’d first met.

You pulled back and only then did you shake Tim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Tim nodded, the smile lines by his eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome… Y/n. I’m proud of you, kid.”

You smiled softly and forced yourself to only say, “Have a good shift… Tim,” before hurrying away. But as you got into your shop (your shop, for the first time), you didn’t stop a few happy tears from falling.

---

You were nervous. It was your second time riding with Tim since graduating the FTO program and you were nervous. It had nothing to do with riding with Tim, however, and everything to do with what you were going to ask him.

“Tim?” You asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, Y/l/n?”

“I have to tell you something.” You fiddled with your left hand nervously, already missing the weight on your finger.

Instantly, Tim was softening and frowning, “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes! Yeah, I’m okay.” This time you actually meant it. “I have news, though.”

“Oh?” Tim turned to you for a second, before looking back at the road. “What is it?”

You swallowed, and then, “Jacob asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Tim had finally come around to Jacob a few months ago. Little did you know, but Jacob had actually asked Tim’s permission before proposing. You’d told him once about how you wished you had a father that you still spoke to, just for that reason. Jacob had known Tim was the next best thing.

Tim smiled widely, “Congratulations, Y/n. I’ll be expecting an invite to the wedding.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” This was where the nervousness was coming in. You were pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach had reached your lungs too.

“What is it?” Tim tilted his head slightly.

“Will you walk me down the aisle?” Tim froze, shocked. You quickly rambled on, as you so often did when nervous, “You don’t have to, I just-.. I don’t talk to my bio dad, and you’re the closest thing I have to a father, and it would mean a lot to me, and-.”

“Relax, Y/l/n,” Tim cut you off with a smile. “I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

The smile on your face then was the third biggest you’d ever smiled. The first had been when you’d graduated the FTO program, and the second when Jacob had proposed. But this… this was an entirely different feeling. This was the feeling of your whole life, finally working out. You had a career, a fiancé, and now, a father. A real one, who never insulted you or made you feel worthless.

What more could you ask for?

fin

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

#never rambles #tim bradford #the rookie #rookieposting #tim bradford x reader #lucy chen #angela lopez #nyla harper #wade gray #tim bradford x daughter!reader #platonic tim bradford x reader #never writes

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tenebrius-excellium · 1 day ago

Note

I was just looking at your reverse Httyd AU, and I LOVE IT!!! I have a few questions:

Would Toothless still be named toothless, despite by the whole “biting off hiccup’s leg” thing?

How would Stoic find out he was alive?

Will Stoic ever find hiccup?

Does hiccup stay on Berk forever or eventually take off with Toothless?

What happens to the red death? Do the raids continue?

What’s the general conflict?

I seriously adore this take on Httyd, and I’d love to hear more about it!

Dude you assume I have thought this out??? T_T hahahaaha

No anyway hiiiii and thank you so much for these questions!!! They are fantastic! So the general idea was just that Hiccup and Toothless would switch injuries during the first movie (Hiccup loses his leg at the start, Toothless his tail at the end) and I haven't had the time to really dive into how that would change the entire dynamic of the film. Your questions are a great way to explore that, I believe, so let's get into it!?

1. Yeah Toothless would still be named Toothless. I'd like it to remain sort of ambiguous how Hiccup lost the leg - we don't know whether Toothless ripped it off or if it happened through some other traumatic force, like a fall, or if it was crushed by a rock. All I know is that Hiccup and Toothless VIOLENTLY collide in the woods. And you know the number that Toothless' killing blasts can do on a landscape. I assume the same indirect fault level that Hiccup had with Toothless' tail - Toothless wanted to eliminate the threat and thought he killed his enemy, or at least he scared Hiccup off enough to never come back, if he survived... only to discover that yes, the boy did in fact survive, with a heavy injury that will still end him if left untreated, and Toothless must come to terms with his role in the pain and suffering he caused. Hiccup must move from the role of a direct combat enemy to a wounded kid who needs support. Hiccup will need a fire to cauterize his leg, and to keep warm since I imagine there is a lot of rain on Berk. That will be Toothless' first chance to offer some help. But to approach Hiccup, he must drop his weapons first (like Hiccup had to drop his knife) and one of the things the Night Fury can do to show that he is not trying to be a threat anymore is to retract his teeth.

2. + 3. + 4. + 5. Yeah Stoick would find out that his son is alive. I'm not yet sure if Hiccup stays in the cove the entire time. I don't believe he would. Let's say he stays there for the duration that there are edible fish in the cove's little pond. But he can't climb out of the hole by himself, and he'll run out of food down there. So it's up to Toothless to help him move. Toothless might bring him fish from the sea at first, but it'll become too dangerous to openly fly around the island of Berk without being spotted by human sentries. So it will be Toothless who, seeing Hiccup's desire to leave, will grab him one day and move him to a remote cliff or something that's closer to the ocean, so he can catch fish and feed Hiccup there. This is where their friendship will blossom - Hiccup will learn to train Terrible Terrors, and Toothless and him will develop a closer physical bond while Hiccup heals. Toothless can't return Hiccup to the village himself, else he will be killed. Hiccup understands that, but he still thinks about how he can regain mobility and go back. He'll build a prosthetic leg for himself, tying it with straps of his clothing, and one day, while he is chilling on Toothless' back, Toothless will just walk off the cliff and show Hiccup the joys of flight.

Without Berk's resources, it will take Hiccup longer to master staying on Toothless' back. But eventually, he'll learn about the patterns of the dragon raids. Returning to the cove to perhaps grab something that he left behind there, Astrid will find him. The romantic flight and the discovery of the dragons' nest follow. Astrid promises not to give Toothcup's location away. Given that it's HER who won at dragon training in Hiccup's absence though, she is now expected to kill the Monstrous Nightmare in the kill ring finale. And knowing what she knows, she can't go through with it, prompting the discovery of Hiccup and Toothless. Toothless gives himself up willingly so that Hiccup can return home.

After that, the movie is basically "back to normal": Stoick uses Toothless to lead him to the dragon nest, Hiccup follows with the gang and they take down the Red Death. Toothless assumes the main part, since he is not limited by his tail. He can protect Hiccup better and outsmart the Red Death. After the fall, it's Hiccup who first gains consciousness before Toothless, and insists on taking him back to Berk so he can build him a prosthetic tail. Dragons come to live on Berk, and it's the same happy ending overall.

6. The general conflict would be slightly different having Hiccup's and Toothless' roles reversed. Some of the main differences are:

Toothless isn't part of a community in the way Hiccup is. Remember how no other dragon came to look for tailless Toothless. Toothless was abandoned because he was a lone cat, whereas Stoick would launch multiple search parties for Hiccup. So that would definitely create a different dynamic for the story.

It would be difficult to write this as a story where Toothless doesn't create the impression of keeping Hiccup "captive". There needs to be an immediate attempt to return Hiccup to the village but either Hiccup is still too sick to travel or it'll be too dangerous for Toothless, so it has to be impossible for a time. A quick Google search reveals that a below-the-knee amputation takes at least a month or two to heal. Prior to that, Hiccup cannot possibly think to put weight on a home-made prosthetic. So it'll take him an entire summer to learn how to walk again, just like it took several weeks for Toothcup to perfect their flying. Toothless isn't as physically integral to Hiccup's recovery as Hiccup was to the dragon's... Hiccup will build his own walking aid, and Toothless will "only" be there to provide food, shelter, and comfort. But on the other hand, this will give a better opportunity to gain some fascinating insight into the social order of dragons, as Hiccup will only be interacting with animals for a time.

It would be Toothless taking responsibility for the raids originating from his own nest. In the og movie, it's Hiccup who calls his father out for "killing thousands of them", and it's Stoick who sails out to end the conflict once and for all. In the reversed version, Toothless would have to decide to confront his own for "killing hundreds of them" and defeat the unrepentant and greedy dragon queen.

It would be harder to facilitate Hiccup's "discovery" without laying the blame on Astrid specifically. Perhaps Toothless finally brings Hiccup home after all, knowing fully well that he is walking into a death trap for himself.

The other themes, like of interspecies prejudices and unrelenting friendship betwee unlikely characters, could stay the same.

So, this isn't a hard outline, and there are lots of other ways that this idea can be played. If anyone feels inspired or has a better idea, PLEASE SHARE IT WITH ME; I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT IT.

I wanna make sure that this stays a movie that feels as much like og Httyd without losing any of the beautiful message. This is not an AU where Hiccup leaves indefinitely or becomes a dragon hermit like Valka... it's not supposed to be about becoming a hero or about revenge or about proving someone wrong, but about dragons and humans overcoming their differences. It's not the vigilante AU and not Damsel (2024) with Millie Bobbie Brown. The attempt is to tell the exact same Httyd story with the same morals, but reversed roles. Since Hiccup and Toothless have different traits and personalities though, it's interesting to think about what could replace what.

Feel free to hit me up with more ideas or headcanons, seriously.

Thank you for the ask!

Cheers

Reddie

#httyd #httyd au #reverse httyd au #wherethekitethought #wherethekiteflies #ask #asks #httyd fandom #theratlivinginyourcouchcushions #hiccup #toothless #toothcup

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enchanteriv · 2 days ago

Text

Valentino Galani ⛵

Grew up on a small farm in the south of Tartosa. His parents grew oranges and other fruits. They did not live in poverty, but Val was used to working hard and helping out around the house from an early age.

When it came time to go to university, Val chose the profession of an architect. The parents were surprised by their son's choice; they were hoping for something more mundane. They did not know their son at all.

But Valentino never managed finished his studies. During the holidays, when he returned to the town, he met his old friend - the beautiful Ramona. Month later they announced to everyone that they were getting married. And year later, Teresa was born.

In order to support his new family, Val got a job, barely combining it with his studies. But on principle, he did not want to take help from relatives who did not believe in him.

He worked as a dishwasher, a waiter, a loader, a handyman, all sorts of things. Studied at nights. But eventually dropped out of the university. There was a big scandal. How could he leave his studies, a promising specialty? In exchange for what? For a small laborer?

Then came the endless wanderings. He was helping a not-quite-legal businessman with the construction of a not-quite-conscientious building. He was working for a monopoly of not quite law-abiding guys. He took out loans that were not entirely reasonable in order to open businesses that were not entirely successful.

In the end, his next attempt was successful! But looking back, he eventually realized that he had lost his family on the way. After all, he is not the same as he used to be.

Perhaps this is what prevented him from establishing a relationship with his wife. But what a blessing that the daughter took a step toward her father. He swore to himself that he would do everything to be a father to her.

And despite everything, he is ready to move on, no matter what life has in store for him.

#sims things #oc: valentine #oc: galani family #Spotify

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venomwrites · 3 days ago

Text

Warnings for violence, character death, sadness. Also on Ao3

It takes weeks for their first resupply.

The airship is well stocked. Too well stocked, if Vi thinks about it. It’s a week before she realizes this was someone’s escape. She spends the next days torturing herself with who they could have been, what their faces could have looked like when they realized their ticket out had been punched. Did they see them flying away? Were they able to get out? But then Jinx mumbles that she’s hungry and the torturous thoughts shift back to the reason she’s here. She promised Jinx that they could go. Jinx didn’t want to help but she was willing to shuffle out of the bunker with her. All of the guards had been shifted to the gates. But their luck seemed to hold all the way to the Airship docks. It held as they got onto the ship. It was already started, already humming like it was waiting for them. It wasn’t, it was waiting for someone else but Jinx shuffled forward and so Vi took it. She’d been pick pocketing for weeks before Jinx got her, but this is a huge job. Her hands shook as she cast off the rope and her side ached as she scrambled onto the ship. But Jinx pointed to a button and she thumbed it and the job was done. Full gas, full supplies, the beds were maid with fresh linens. She and Jinx curled up in the smallest one, limbs locking together like they were kids again.

For weeks they just drift where the wind takes them.

Half the time they don’t even put the engines on. Their destination is ‘away’. So they drift and conserve fuel. Jinx just stares away mostly, barely even having the energy to speak. Shifting back into taking care of her is like breathing. Vi combs and braids her hair. She boils the fresh food into stews and forces it through strainers turning it into something finer. Some she stores away. Some she guides through her sister’s lips on the days when Jinx can’t bring herself to eat. She remembers how to make brine and pickle vegetables. Soon one of the pantries is full of jars that will last them long after the fresh food is supposed to rot. She sorts through the contents of the ship and creates piles of things they can sell. During that process she finds a box that is so stuffed with credits she claps it shut and looks for witnesses. There are none. It’s just her and Jinx on this airship and Jinx is in the wheelhouse with the windows slitted open. Vi doesn’t let her on the deck unsupervised right now. Jinx doesn’t fight her.

Eventually though they do need gas.

By that time Jinx is a bit more alive, but not by much. So Vi coils her hair under a cap and puts her in some of the clothing left for the servants. She pulls on some of the clothing left for the family. She knows they might be looking for her so she chooses a dress instead of pants and finds the cosmetics laid out for the woman. She pains her face and puts on a hat with a little veil that helps hide her scars. When she tests the undergarments they fit oddly well and she thanks whoever is listening their luck is holding. She pulls on the dress and stockings and fawn colored cape. When she comes out Jinx looks at her quietly for a moment and Vi rolls her eyes to let her know she’s aware of how foolish she looks.

“Next time you can be the lady if you’re up for it,” she says.

Jinx doesn’t reply.

Vi gets the airship parked following Jinx’s quiet points. She ties it off and goes to speak to the man in charge of the dock. He’s a stout, old man who straightens up when he mistakes her for a lady. Her heart aches at how much he reminds her of Benzo. She hopes he made a good welcome for Dad. The idea of them together in the afterlife always felt nice. Now she knows it’s a reality. Finally. She swallows down the lump the thought brings and focuses on the man.

“We need gas,” she says, “water,” she pretends to consider, “somewhere to restock our food,” the man is still staring at her and Vi wonders if they’re going to have to run. They have enough to get somewhere new, but it’ll be close, “sir?”

“Apologies, ma’m,” he says, blinking back to life, “forgive my rudeness, we just didn’t think anyone made it out.”

The adrenaline doesn’t dissipate now that she know she hasn’t been caught. If anything it gets worse. The man softens and comes around the counter. He hesitates a moment before he embraces her tightly.

“There’s still hope then.”

“Did you have family there?” She tries and he shakes his head.

“No, thank the Gods. But friends do.”

“We left before it happened,” she says, “we ran.”

The word comes out unexpectedly choked.

“None of that,” he says, handing her a handkerchief, “if you’d have stayed you’d be like the rest of them. That’s not a fate I’d wish on my worst enemy,” his eyes move to Jinx and his face softens. He scribbles something on a pad and hands the paper to her, “take this to Marcello’s shop. He’ll have supplies for you. I’ll get you refueled. Will your servant stay?”

“No, she’ll come with me,” Vi says, “she’s recovering.”

The man nods.

“I’ll see to it personally,” he says. Vi nods and moves towards the door. The man hesitates and then calls after her, “you’ve got a good heart, ma’m,” he says, “thanks to the Gods it still beats.”

Vi blinks away the sting in her eye and steers Jinx into town. The man calls ahead because when they get there a cart is waiting with boxes of food. It’s more food than Vi has seen in one place in a long time. It looks like their own personal market. It makes her think of the Kiramman pantry. But she shoves the memory away. She needs the tears but they have to be fake. Jinx picks up the handle of the cart as she pays for their supplies. They undercharge her criminally for them and wish her well. The boxes are loaded onto the ship and their gauges all read full before Vi finally can swallow the question back no longer.

“I’m sorry, can you tell me any rumors about Zaun?” She asks, “for my servant?”

The man’s face falls but he nods and pulls her to the side. Vi positions herself so she can keep an eye on Jinx, but she’s picking through the fruit.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news,” he says, “the last party said Zaun fell to it right after,” he twists his hands together, “the straight’s fallen. Bilgewater’s gone, Ixal will be next.”

Vi wants to demand answers but knows she can’t without compromising her cover. His voice turns urgent.

“I’d keep floating,” he says, “high as you can. They’re not in the sky yet. If you see them, turn everything off. They don’t want your stuff, they just want your mind.”

“We left before we could see them, do you know what they look like?”

“White and gold,” he says, “lock your servant up if you see them. They aren’t who they used to be.”

Vi thinks she might be sick.

“They belong to the Herald now.”

Those two sentences haunt her as she puts them back in the sky. Jinx is tearing into the flesh of some pulpy fruit. Seeds of another are collected in a little bowl. It’s a good thing she’s eating, but all Vi can do is twist the words in her head. They aren’t who they used to be, they belong to the Herald now. She pulls out one of the maps and lays it on the table. She takes one of the seeds out and puts them near the outpost they just re-supplied at. They’re moving away towards the sea. She picks up a pencil and circles the straight between Piltover, Zaun and Bilgewater. Her plan was for them to drift more, but now there’s places they cannot go. They’ll need to use more gas which means more resupplies. If this is spreading across the continents, then they need to start making their way somewhere else. It could buy them some time.

“Will this thing make it to Ionia?” She asks Jinx. The fruit has helped her perk up a bit. She glances around and shrugs, “best guess.”

“Probably,” Jinx says, “if the weather holds,” she leans forward over the map. A drop of juice lands on Piltover but Vi doesn’t even think to scold her. Piltover’s gone, “we might need to supply here.”

“He said that’s gone,” Vi says.

“So no guards.”

Vi smiles but she hopes they don’t have to resupply there.

She hopes the weather holds.

That night she dreams of Caitlyn again. She’s wide-eyed and terrified, yelling Vi’s name over and over. She hovers over her like she had for months before. Though this time Vi knows she’s there. Her fingers are painful on Vi’s wound as she shoves the lacy cravat against it to try and staunch the bleeding. All Vi can do is try to make eye contact as the world pulls away. Regret churns in her gut for how she shoved Caitlyn to the side to stagger after Jinx. How Caitlyn shouted at her not to but Vi pushed forward anyway. Jinx is the most important thing. She always has been. All Vi can do is hear Vander’s plea even as he roars and flings lava everywhere. She thought his first death was horrible but she’d give anything for him to be laying on the ground twisting with Shimmer. She left Powder then, she’s not making the same mistake.

She’d rather die.

She nearly does.

It’s worth it. But her under arm feels painfully cold with Caitlyn’s absence and her hands sting from pushing her away.

In the dream Caitlyn’s scream turns distorted. Her face freezes and cracks and turns white. White and gold, like he said. Behind her she sees a figure whose unnaturally long hand is buried in Caitlyn’s scalp. Her inky hair turns into a web of gold that makes Vi think of her stupid beret. The grip she has on Vi’s wound turns agonizing as her fingers push through Vi’s flesh. She opens her mouth to yell but only blood comes out as Caitlyn’s fingers part her flesh and bump against her spine. Caitlyn’s features are lost to the white that takes over her skin, but a tear still falls from where her eyes used to be and trails to join the blood Vi coughs onto her face. It all drips back onto Vi’s cheek as the white thing that was Caitlyn leans closer in a mockery of their first kiss.

Vi wakes with a yell.

She looks over but the bed is empty. The ship lurches horribly. One glance tells her they are caught in a storm. Vi scrambles to her feet and grabs the handholds in the wall. The ship is full of clever details like that. There’s another tilt and she holds on tighter, digging in her heel. The thick carpet in the hall strains and shifts before it gives way. Vi looks down to see glue on the edge. More glue is revealed as more of the carpet pulls back. Vi glares at the loss of her foothold and the cheapness of the job. She’s shocked it’s held up for months and infuriated it chose now to give up. The ship thankfully rocks back to center. Vi scrambles forward past the bunched carpet. She nearly falls on the most bunched part and yells in frustration, ripping it the rest of the way off and rolling it towards the other wall. If they need to run down the hallway she doesn’t want either of them wiping out on it.

“Fucking Pilties,” she mutters when she realizes there’s another carpet underneath.

She rips the top one off from the other side and shoves it into one of the other rooms. It’s minutes she wishes she didn’t have to waste but she knows it’s time well spent. She runs up to the wheelhouse to see Jinx gripping the steering wheel. Her face is serious and her fingers are dexterous. Vi realizes she’s taken them down and is finding a place for them to land. She opens her mouth to protest but Jinx shakes her head and flicks a few switches. The ship drops like an elevator. Gears and mechanism whir as they drop through the sky and then gently lower onto a wide stone balcony. They nestle close to the doors so if anything hits like lightening, it’ll hit the giant house first.

“Where are we?”

“Dunno,” Jinx says, “I hit the emergency landing and the ship went on autopilot horizontally. I was just controlling the vertical.”

“Weird,” Vi says, “you think anyone’s home?”

Jinx looks and shakes her head. For the first time Vi sees something like worry on her face. Immediately she puts her hand on her shoulder.

“You wanna be the lady this time in case we have to explain?”

Jinx shakes her head.

They change back into their disguises quickly, but no-one comes. Something feels wrong in a new way. Her fingers itch for her Gauntlets. But the pistol will have to suffice. Vi makes her way back to their room. Past the wheelhouse, back down the stupid hallway with it’s double carpet. She just hopes whoever’s lawn they’ve landed on doesn’t come before she gets the weapon. She keeps it hidden from Jinx but if push comes to shove, she’ll have to ask her to get it. But no-one comes as she gets to the steps leading down the hallway. She has to take them slower when her feet are in the stupid stockings but it’s better than running in the blocky shoes. That slowness means for the first time the second carpet registers.

For the second time the handholds are the only thing keeping her upright.

The keys are crossed and stamped at neat intervals along the dark blue fabric. Not the new ones with the Noxus gem, these are the old ones that were littered around the Kiramman house. As her eyes take them in, it feels like someone has put a key into her brain. She can feel every pin shifting into place. The lack of guards, the abundance of supplies, the pile of money. She looks down at the garments she’s wearing. The clothes fit her. Pistol forgotten, Vi races back along the route to the fancy bedroom. The one where all the lady’s stuff is. She’s been sewing her entire life. She turns one of the blouses inside out and sees the hastily shifted seam. Another coat has an extra button still tacked onto the corner. Dread pounds through Vi as throws the new clothing aside and flings back the cover of the bed.

She would know those sheets anywhere.

Her knees smack the ground as she stares at them. The thoughts of the family this ship was meant for vanish. Instead she sees Caitlyn signing documents while she’s unconscious in the background. She sees her pushing money into a box she knows Vi will find and handing Vi’s measurements to someone to get clothes that will fit. Three days. She had three days and she did all of this knowing Ambessa was coming for her. And what had VI done? Yelled at her. Even when Caitlyn told her Jinx surrendered, that she kept her safe. Even when she looked at her with that anguish on her face. None of it had registered. Caitlyn hadn’t just put Jinx in the bunker in her own house, she had cleared the way for them. She gave them everything they needed to get away. Vi lurches to her feet again and runs to the other wardrobe. The clothes in there are cut slimmer. There’s a brush and hair ties. For a moment Vi feels hope but then she sees how short the pants are. How they are faintly patterned.

Caitlyn never planned on coming with them.

The realization crashes into Vi as the fabric falls from her hands. Caitlyn set this up, she put her own sheets on the bed and arranged for all of this so Vi and Jinx could get away. Caitlyn who threw away all of her plans for the slim chance Vi could get more time with her father. Who put Vi in her bed, the only place Vi can remember feeling truly safe. She did all of that and Vi yelled at her. Vi left her. She wanted Vi to leave her. Vi feels an itch in her mind. Caitlyn wanted her gone, but that makes no sense. The battle was weeks out. Vi could have been healed and ready to fight in that time. Vi would have fought, especially with Jinx in the bunker. But even if she hadn’t been, Vi would have fought. It was what she did best. There has to be a reason for this. Something she’s missing. There wouldn’t just be nothing. She grabs the small pull on the first drawer of the nightstand and starts to look for a note.

She doesn’t find one.

She finds so much though. Papers with her and Jinx’s pictures but different names. There’s a case with orange tinted glasses that will hide Jinx’s eyes. A box full of thick cotton wraps for her hands. Her red jacket is in one of the closets. She finds her old necklace nestled among a truly nauseating amount of sapphires and diamonds. She finds her old Enforcer badge, back in it’s case. But nothing with Caitlyn’s handwriting. Nothing that tells her why she did this. She scrubs her face and thumbs through the books again to see if something’s hidden there. Nothing. There’s nothing. The only scrap of Caitlyn’s handwriting are the forged signatures on the documents and that’s not what she wants. That’s not Caitlyn. That’s Caitlyn pretending to be her.

“Vi?” Jinx’s voice is tentative at the door.

“Did she say anything to you?” Vi asks and the desperation in her voice makes both of them jump. Jinx shifts back and looks heartbreakingly like Powder for a moment, “sorry,” Vi says quickly, “when I was out did she say anything to you?”

“Who?” Jinx asks quietly.

Anger floods through Vi at the question before she remembers Jinx has no way of knowing what she knows. She doesn’t know Caitlyn did all of this for them. It takes everything to pull back on the rush of anger and look at her sister.

“Caitlyn,” she says, “did Caitlyn say anything?”

“No she just talked to you,” Jinx says, “until the bunker.” Vi’s heart jumps, “she brought me food. She said there wouldn’t be a trial,” Jinx continues, “when you came and you looked so happy, I didn’t want you to watch me be executed. Even though I deserve it. I knew it’d hurt you and I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

The air goes out of Vi’s lungs.

“You knew it’d hurt me?” Vi asks weakly.

“You hate seeing people hurt,” Jinx says, coming closer.

The words hang between them as the horrible truth settles into Vi’s marrow. Caitlyn protected her. Even if the battle meant they would both die, Caitlyn made sure Vi wouldn’t watch people die. She made sure Vi wouldn’t suffer. Even after the things Vi yelled at her. A low sound pulls from her chest at the realization. Any doubt Vi had that the Caitlyn she fell for was in there somewhere vanishes. It’s too smart a trap. Not the brutal ones Caitlyn laid in their search for Jinx. This is a clever one. Unbearably clever. And Vi fell for it. It should feel like a snare but as she looks at the trap, even she cannot find any cruelty in it. It should feel like a snare but instead it feels like an embrace. Like Caitlyn pressing her tears into her neck on the bridge. Like the way her arms wound around her when their lips finally met. She had begged her not to change. She felt betrayed when she did. Now she sees there’s a part of Caitlyn that didn’t. But she was too blind to see it. Caitlyn was there and she just left.

“Where are we?” Vi demands.

“Huh?”

“Where are we?” She hurries up to the wheelhouse, “how close are we to Piltover?” Her mind shifts. Caitlyn’s brilliant, of course that guy was wrong. She’s found a way to survive, “we have to get there.”

“Vi we can’t,” Jinx says.

“We have to!” Vi argues, “Caitlyn’s there—she’s probably in the Bunker waiting for us,” she tries to think. The ship was well stocked, the bunker must be too, “they’re probably running low on supplies so we gotta hurry—“

“Vi!” Jinx finally says her name in a way that registers. She looks at the anguish on her face and forces herself to stop for a moment. Even though everything in her screams to start running through the storm, “she’s not.”

“Jinx—“ Vi shakes her head, “I know I’m asking a lot but this is an emergency. She’s waiting, we can get her and figure this all out. I made her think I didn’t care, I gotta fix that—“

“No, Vi,” Jinx makes a miserable sound, “she talked to me in the bunker. She said she was exhausted and tired of hating me,” she chews her lip, “she said she hated herself.”

“What did you say?” Vi questions.

“I told her I didn’t know her mom was up there,” she says.

“What else?”

Jinx shakes her head.

“She left right after.”

Vi looks back at the map and forces her anger down. It’s not just at Jinx, it’s at herself. She yelled at Caitlyn and Jinx told her that her mother’s death was little more than an afterthought. Caitlyn hated herself. Vi abandoned her to a woman she betrayed. A monster she betrayed. She hadn’t truly been loyal, if she had she would have done things differently. All those months and how Caitlyn must have felt make her head spin. All of that she weathered alone. Vi had made a few attempts to get in contact but they were all quickly rebuffed. She thought it was because of how much she fucked up, but the world has shifted. Was Caitlyn protecting her even then? She misses the chair and sits down hard on the floor. Jinx comes over and sits in front of her. There’s life in her eyes, but it feels like it’s coming out of Vi.

“We’ll go as soon as the weather clears,” Jinx says.

Vi nods but her gaze keeps dragging towards the stone columns.

And the crossed keys stamped into them.

She waits for Jinx to fall asleep before she slips away. She’s been doing it for years. Slipping out of bed without waking her. She knows enough after months of flying this thing to program the autopilot on a delay. She does everything she can think of to slow Jinx down and she leaves a note. She promises she’ll be back as soon as she can, but if something happens Jinx needs to go. Needs to live for as long as she can. Live for all of them. She says she’s proud of her and would do it all a thousand times over to call her sister. She signs it ‘Always’. Then she gathers what she needs, puts on her red jacket and slips out of the ship.

She makes it to Piltover a few hours later.

The storm has shifted into just a downpour, no wind. Vi wishes there was as she looks at the bridge. This one is narrower. It’s a private bridge, one people aren’t allowed on unless you’re a founding family. The double keys were a dead give away. The ship going to that house makes a lot more sense now that she knows it’s a Kiramman ship. Of course it went to a Kiramman house. Now she’s on a Kiramman road. She waivers as she looks at the bridge. The autopilot is set for day. Jinx is still asleep probably. She could turn back. She should turn back. The chances of Caitlyn being alive are so impossibly slim. She and Jinx could have months more floating in the sky. This plague could stop. She could go off with the new life that’s been given to her so selflessly.

But Caitlyn will be here.

Her parents will be here.

Vander and Benzo and Mylo and Claggor—

And Caitlyn.

Vi steps onto the bridge.

The rain obscures her vision enough that it’s a surprise when she realizes there’s something ahead. She’s never seen the things before. Only heard the whispered rumors of how you can’t let them touch you. Maybe the rain is giving her some cover because this one hasn’t moved. It stands perfectly still. It’s faceless and white, etched through with gold. All she can think of is how the elongated, elegant limbs remind her of Viktor. She steps forward and the doll shifts just slightly. Just enough for Vi to know she’s been made. The option of going back closes behind her. She waits for the feeling of horror, but all she feels is relief. Peace settles over her as she looks at the face. You’re not supposed to try and guess who they were. But if she’s going to die, she figures why not? There’s a lot of gold on this one, it’s actually more gold than white. Including a dip where a lip should be.

“Vi,” the robotic says her name but it speaks with Viktor’s voice. Another pin slides into place, “this is a surprise.”

“Is it?” She asks.

“No, this is inevitable” the doll says, “but I thought it would be a few months before we met again. Where is your sister?”

“Long gone,” she says, “months, right?” The doll inclines its head, “so what does it matter?”

“You still sacrifice yourself so easily.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here,” she says.

The doll moves and it’s suddenly in front of her. It’s fucking fast. Her dream echoes back to her of the hand pushing through her body. There’s nothing to stop this doll from doing the same. It doesn’t though. It tilts its head considering her.

“Emotion clouds us,” Viktor says, “humanity’s greatest flaw,” his voice shifts and a female one Vi has heard a few times joins it, “she was so relieved you didn’t see.”

Vi’s hand grabs the first piece of metal she can. The thing reverses the grip, knocks her hands aside and picks her up by the jacket.

“How confident are you?” Vi challenges. The doll shifts it’s head, “you said you corrected emotions. But Caitlyn thought of me—“ she’s thinking on her feet, “take me to her and find out.”

“An interesting hypothesis,” the doll says, drawing her closer.

“You’re the scientist,” Vi says.

The doll considers her for a moment more and then she’s flying through the air. It’s hard to even get a breath in, let alone get her bearings. The doll takes her through the deserted city, past groups of the same dolls. Vi forces herself not to look at how fucking small some of them are. Kids. He did this to kids. He’ll do it to every kid in the world. The dolls occasionally glance over. Vi wonders if it’s Viktor looking or if some part of them remains who they were. The doll shoots across the Bridge of Progress and skids to a stop so she’s facing Zaun. The hand behind her neck tightens as the doll goes silent. Like someone has flicked a switch and turned it off. Something like hope churns in Vi’s gut. Maybe Viktor will be here to witness this experiment. Doubt flicks in the back of her mind but Vi shoves it away. Caitlyn did all of this for her. She’s not listening to any doubts. There’s a glow behind her and the doll rotates her so she watches Viktor descend. Any hope vanishes at the sight of him. He’s more machine than man, no sign of the person Vi thought would save her dad. When he floats over to her, there’s no heat on him.

“We have evolved past feelings,” he intones and the sound comes from him and the doll, “but sometimes we are drawn to the familiar. A weakness eased by time,” he says, “as are all things.”

“Where is she?” Vi questions, straining to hear any sound of Caitlyn.

“As I said, the familiar draws us. Even past feelings,” the doll turns her and deposits her on the ground.

Right by the pillar that was the memorial to her fucking parents.

You aren’t supposed to let them touch you. Now Vi sees why. That hand on the back of her neck has been in her head. She’s going to die right where her mom died. Funny because she always thought she’d die at home. But the bridge is as good as anywhere if she’s going to fucking die. Vi straightens her jacket and looks at Viktor, but his head is turned. The claw on his back tightens into a point and a flash of light emits, illuminating the dolls they zipped past. They stand on the bridge and VI can pick out the bronze on them. They’re much less gold than the doll that carried her here. Some of them are splattered with red. It takes a moment for her to realize these were all Enforcers. Or dressed like them anyway. Her stomach tightens as she sees one has his hand across his stomach, like he could be holding a shield. She forces herself not to think about whether or not that’s Loris. It probably is. They are all standing at the ready facing a doll whose back is towards them. Like it’s stopping the Enforcers from coming any closer.

Like it’s protecting her.

She can’t breathe as the truth hits her. Even before it registers this doll is taller than most. It rotates and Vi is gutted at the smoothness of it’s features. She thinks for a moment maybe she was wrong. But her eyes pick out the bulkiness of the doll’s right shoulder where Caitlyn always wore the most armor. Worse is the red on the hollow of her throat. It mirrors the red at the back of her neck. Caitlyn wasn’t just dying, Caitlyn was drowning in her own blood. And all she felt was relief Vi wasn’t there to see it. The doll behind her steps back and Vi realizes she’s about to watch Viktor speak through Caitlyn.

“Hang on don’t you want this to be authentic?” She says. Viktor looks at her, “see what she does without you.”

“We are one,” Viktor says.

“You sound pretty solo to me,” Vi challenges. Viktor’s head cocks to the side and Caitlyn follows, “let her do whatever you’re doing.”

“It won’t work,” Viktor replies.

“So what’s the harm?” Vi asks, “you said it yourself, the world has months. When are you going to get the chance to do this again?” Her heart thuds when Viktor doesn’t just shoot the idea down, “She did all of this for me,” she says, “how many times are you going to find an emotion like that?”

Viktor gives something that might be a shrug and settles himself against the side of the bridge. He looks almost relaxed. Only the fact that he can fly tells Vi pushing him off the bridge won’t fix this. She turns back to the Caitlyn doll. It’s still and frozen, head still cocked to the side. Like an off switch has been flicked. She looks at Viktor who regards her.

“Perhaps you were wrong,” he says.

“No I just need to get closer,” Vi retorts.

The doll helps her out with that.

It’s so much worse up close. How the fuck is this thing Caitlyn. But it is. Vi knows it is. She tilts her head to try and mimic how the doll is standing. She tries to think about the Caitlyn who lingers in the back of her head. The one who looked at her softly and didn’t bother to tell Vi she was an actual princess until there was no other choice. Who pleaded for her to stay and forgave Vi for leaving the first time. She clings to that image as she looks at the doll’s smooth face.

“Hey, Cupcake,” she says, “thanks for lending me your ship. Took me months to figure it out but you know,” she taps her head, “Loris said the doc’s told you I had a thick skull. Probably wouldn’t have figured it out for a few more months if it hadn’t happened.”

The twitch is so faint Vi thinks she might have imagined it.

“But once it did I figured it out,” she says, “the note was really sweet.”

Another twitch, this one unmistakable even before the doll’s head rotates forward and then up.

“Not me,” the doll wheezes.

Vi’s eyes flood with tears. Caitlyn can hide her feelings better than anyone she knows. She plays things close to the chest until she can’t anymore. Until they bubble over. In a kinder world, it would be love or something that made her do it. But it’s not. Anger gets her there. Anger makes Caitlyn speak even though some part of her thinks she’s still got destroyed vocal cords. But she speaks because Vi’s managed to annoy her. To put a dent in her brilliant but stupid plan. Vi tries to blink the tears away but a few break free. Caitlyn is closer, peering at her with those missing features.

“There was no note,” Caitlyn clarifies and her voice comes out stronger.

“So how’d I know it was you then?” Vi challenges, “or are you going to pretend it wasn’t?”

Caitlyn considers her quietly.

“How?”

“Come on Cupcake, take a guess.”

Caitlyn twitches.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, “it’s too late.”

“Nah it’s never too late,” Vi says, “come on, you know you want to know.”

Dread creeps though her as Caitlyn twitches again. Vi wants to see her face but there’s nothing there. She’s so used to seeing the way Caitlyn’s face shifts to let her know if something is getting through or not. Does Caitlyn even know she’s a doll? That Vi can’t see.

“Okay fine it was the carpets,” she says.

“I was thinking!” Caitlyn argues and then stops, “what?”

“They used the wrong glue in the hallway,” she says, “I found your Kiramman ones underneath.”

Caitlyn goes still. Panic hits Vi like a ton of bricks. Not seeing her expression is hard. She sees one of the other dolls twitch and moves before she can think. She grabs Caitlyn’s hand and touches it to her side. The doll jerks back.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Caitlyn says, “I didn’t want you here.”

“You got what you wanted,” Vi says, “now it’s my turn. Or is this just about you?” The doll is quiet, “come on Cupcake did you think about me at all?”

“Y-Y—“ the doll stutters and goes quiet. Then straightens and says in that overlapping voice, “Yes but it doesn’t matter."

Vi grabs the hand again and flattens Caitlyn’s palm over her side. The doll jerks like it’s fighting something. Vi puts her other hand there, holding it against her skin. The place where Caitlyn saved her. Features or not, she knows that means something. Viktor moves out of the corner of her eye and she feels the dolls fingers meld together. They flatten into something pointed and the path forward becomes horribly clear. The Caitlyn doll twitches, goes still and straightens, pulling it’s hand back.

“Your hypothesis was not proven,” Viktor and Caitlyn’s voices overlap, “we have evolved—“

The metal goes through her flesh as easily as it did in her dream.

It hurts way worse.

Vi sucks in a breath and looks down at the metal embedded in her gut. Her blood drips down the white cone as it goes deeper. Towards her heart. The cone twitches and shifts back into a hand. It wrestles a noise from her lips as her mouth fills with blood. Unlike her dream she spits it to the side this time. She’s not getting out of this. The doll looks down at her wound and curves it’s hand inside her body. Vi feels it in her ribs as it pulls her closer.

“You would strain the system,” Viktor says.

“I never wanted to be one of your stupid dolls,” Vi says. Fingers twitch again, “I just wanted to die at home,” she says, putting her hands on Caitlyn’s shoulders, “with someone who loves me.”

Viktor screams and Caitlyn’s voice takes over.

Vi watches Viktor stagger back, clutching at his head. All of the dolls collapse but Caitlyn cradles her so tightly Vi barely feels it. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss. Either way it barely seems to matter as she looks up. Caitlyn is gasping loudly, looking around like she isn’t certain where she is. Vi grips her arm and her head turns frantically towards her. A horrified sound escapes her lips. Vi smiles and tries not to think of how bloody her lips must be.

“Oh God, Vi,” she chokes out her name.

“S’okay,” Vi breathes, “I meant it,” she says, “I wanted to see you.”

“No, no—“ Caitlyn turns her head frantically.

“He said you went somewhere familiar,” Vi gasps, “I’d come here too. Where I came back,” she looks at Caitlyn, “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“Vi, no, Jinx needs you,” Caitlyn pleads, her thumb stroking her cheek, “you could have months.”

“No,” Vi says as their airship appears. Dozens of blue stones clustered on it. Gods she hopes this works. Viktor is still clutching at his head, “just want you.”

“Why?!” Caitlyn cries and Vi smiles as the world takes on a fuzzy edge. She brushes her thumb across where Caitlyn’s lips should be. The doll can’t make tears but Caitlyn sobs all the same, “I thought I was protecting you.”

“You did,” Vi says, “but I want to be with you more.”

The flash is blinding but all Vi can see is the doll’s face. It doesn’t have lips but she pulls it closer as Caitlyn leans down. Deep in her chest Vi feels Caitlyn’s fingers find her heart. All Vi can think is they’re the lucky ones. Caitlyn's fingers close over her heart and Vi pulls her closer as the heat and light hit them both and take them.

****

Ekko waits hours before emerging after the blast.

He’s lived his life in four second increments for months. Lifetimes, if he’s being honest. With all the times he’s had to jerk back time. All the near misses, the almost deaths. The actual deaths. But he’s kept his people alive. That’s the only thing that fucking matters. It’s weird to even feel the breeze as he walks to the bridge. All of the dolls lay dead. Their strings cut. It’s hard to wrap his head around when he looks at them. They were people once. When he shifts one, nothing happens. They really are gone.

He makes his way towards the Bridge, where he thinks the blast may have come from. It’s confirmed when he looks at the gaping hole ripped through it. The blast is devastating and right though the center of the bridge. The Herald is nowhere to be seen, but Ekko thinks he might be at the bottom of the water. Or maybe he doesn’t exist anymore. They’ll have to figure that out. The dolls would come for him if he was still there. Ekko looks around for some kind of confirmation, but he doesn’t have to look long.

One of the dolls is cradling a person.

They’re well preserved considering the magnitude of the blast, thanks only to the doll that cradles them. The doll is collapsed over them, hiding their face. Ekko can see the doll’s hand buried in their side. Either they wanted to cause pain or to prevent it. But the way they are cradling the person makes him think it was the latter. He’s never seen a doll express anything like kindness, no matter who they used to be. It would be strange anywhere but he can’t help the feeling that it has something to do with the explosion.

“Is it over?” Scar asks him quietly.

“Yeah,” Ekko says, “I think we’re safe."

#caitvi #piltover's finest #caitlyn kiramman #vi #arcane #this one is v sad but was a fun challenge to figure out while also being very sad

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stardustrebels · 3 days ago

Text

More of You- Chapter 7

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

WC: 4.1k Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff, some angst and eventual smut. Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back, wears skirts and dresses, blushes and wears makeup.

Chapter Warnings: descriptions of anxiety/ panic, angst, infidelity (not by Joel or reader), brief mention of narcissistic behaviour/ abuse (not by Joel or reader) bereavement, alcohol as a coping mechanism (not in any detail) brief mention of hospitals and death (not in any detail)

A/N: There’s a lot of anxiety in this chapter and a big dollop of angst as well, poor reader has been through it. Honestly, is still going through it. We’re nearing the end of the slow part of the burn, I promise. I wanted to do this chapter justice, and give reader’s past some time to be explored. Just a little further and it’s back to Joel and reader fluffy fun times for a while! Shout out to my friend Lawyer Mike for answering my random pedantic questions about NY State property and notary laws among other things. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

The thought struck you after Joel had rushed out of Harrison’s: you’d agreed to meet him again tomorrow. Tomorrow was Saturday. He’d told you he had been grabbing coffee from there every morning before heading to the office, so did that mean he worked weekends? You figured you could ask him when you saw him, and you added it to the list of questions buzzing around your brain.

The only word you could use to describe how you felt as you flitted around downtown doing chores that afternoon was giddy. Everything in the world seemed brighter, easier, better. You replayed every detail of your conversation, almost in disbelief that it actually happened. If Joel hadn’t had to leave so suddenly, you’re sure you’d have gotten lost in his dark, soulful eyes for several more hours. Amazingly, the reality of him had been even better than what you imagined in your head. You grinned to yourself, remembering the way his touch had sent a jolt through you that you were still buzzing from.

By the time you got to your apartment late that afternoon, you’d decided you needed to reign in the excitement a little. Getting so caught up in a man you’d had one conversation with was insane. You hadn’t even managed to get his number- he’d left so quickly you didn’t get the chance.

Your phone had been buzzing on and off the whole way home and you’d assumed it was Summer, frantically reacting to the photo you’d sent her of Joel’s coffee cup. Your hands were so full of grocery bags you couldn’t check it. As soon as you got through the door, dropped your bags and checked your phone, your stomach dropped, the smile fading from your face in an instant. There were no messages from Summer. There were, however, three missed calls from your lawyer’s office.

Hands trembling, you called them back.

“We have the final paperwork for the apartment sale ready to go,” your lawyer had told you, “It has to be signed by close of business on Monday,”

When you’d asked if you could sign it electronically, she’d said no. Something about state regulations. A wave of dread washed over you and did your best to keep your voice steady as you confirmed the appointment in their New York office for first thing on Monday morning. In person.

Once the call had ended, you tried to ignore the ringing in your ears against the emptiness of the apartment, the acidic feeling rising in your throat at the thought of what you’d just agreed to do. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, the room swam. Pressing your palms flat against the kitchen counter grounded you somewhat.

“Okay,” you said aloud, voice trembling, “It’s fine. I can handle this.”

You forced yourself to take a breath and straighten up. The knot in your stomach didn’t loosen entirely, but it was manageable for now. Hands still shaking, you opened your laptop and began searching for flights.

The only available flight was early Saturday morning. You closed your eyes briefly and took another deep breath. You didn’t want to have to think about any of this, let alone face it, but you had to. Just this final time and you’d be done with it all. You booked the flight, a hotel and a return for Monday afternoon in one fell swoop.

You didn’t move again until your phone buzzed on the counter next to you, making you jump. It was Summer, messaging to reschedule brunch. Just as well, you thought- now you didn’t need to cancel on her and have to explain why, or worse, lie about it.

Hey you, so sorry to do this, but I’ve gotta bail on brunch tomorrow. Forgot I was out of town! Can we reschedule for next weekend? I promise to make it up to you (mimosas on me!) Hope you have a good weekend, can’t wait to hear all about Mr. Miller!

You read her message twice; eyes refusing to focus on the words on the first pass. The relief at not having to be the one to cancel gave way to fresh anxiety.

Joel. You had no way to tell him you wouldn’t be able to meet tomorrow.

You pressed the heels of your hands in to your eyes so hard you saw stars, willing the tension away, but it only made the rapidly encroaching headache worse.

You couldn’t ask Summer to meet him and pass on a message, she was out of town, and you didn’t know anyone else in Austin, at least not well enough to ask them.

Could you go back to Harrison’s and leave a message behind the counter for him? You glanced at the clock on your stove and your stomach dropped- Harrison’s had closed for the day and didn’t open again until well after your flight left tomorrow.

Maybe an email? Absolutely not. The only way you could do that would be to take it from his business’ website, and he hadn’t actually told you the name of it, so you’d look like a top tier creeper.

You let out a shaky laugh at the absurdity of it all, dropped in to a chair by the window and closed your eyes, forcing yourself to inhale deeply, counting to four, and exhale slowly. Again. And again. Like you’d been taught. The ache in your head dulled a little, giving you room to think.

What was the worst that could happen? If he showed up and you weren’t there, maybe he’d wait for a while. Maybe he’d leave disappointed. Maybe you’d never see him again. Maybe he’d be there every morning whether you were or not.

The uncertainty was unbearable, but you realised there was nothing you could do about it. You had to sign the papers. You wanted to be rid of everything in New York once and for all. If Joel was there the next time you managed to get to Harrison’s, you’d apologise and hope that he understood.

You opened your eyes and stared out at the street below through tear-blurred vision. The realisation that things were out of your control didn’t make you feel better, exactly, but it was better than focusing on the endless cycle of what-ifs. A mirthless laugh bubbled up in your throat; of course this would all happen on the one day you had considered the possibility that you could finally move on with your life.

By the time you boarded your flight on Saturday morning, you were exhausted. You’d spent half the night overthinking and the other half suspended in a state of dread. You tried not to think about Joel, but it was impossible as you watched the time you were supposed to meet him come and go. You cursed yourself for the thousandth time that morning for not getting his number. You could have at least let him know where you were, and he might have even texted you over the next couple of days and balanced out the unpleasantness.

Mid-morning New York City greeted you with its usual chaos, and you were in no mood to participate in it by the time you landed. You travelled to Midtown by train, checked in to your hotel, made it to the room and promptly shut the curtains. The city loomed outside and you didn’t feel remotely ready to face it.

You sank down on to the edge of the bed and it struck you suddenly that the wallpaper was almost the same colour as the bedroom walls of the apartment you shared with your ex. That deep green that you’d both agreed on after a debate over swatches one rainy afternoon. You’d painted that room together, dancing around to Queen’s Greatest Hits, laughing when you realised that both of your faces were covered in flecks of paint, like tiny green freckles.

You had laughed a lot back then. At in-jokes you shared, at stupid movies you watched ‘ironically’, at his bad jokes, at memes he’d send you on his lunch break, at the ridiculous dance moves he’d break out to cheer you up when you had a bad day. He’d promised you all of it forever when he proposed, late one night in the dead of winter, bundled up under blankets surrounded by that shade of green. You had believed him when he’d told you forever; how could you not when everything felt entirely effortless?

A smile passed over your lips, bittersweet and fleeting, before the memory burned away in your mind’s eye, replaced with a gut-wrenching ire, as all your memories of him were. After your engagement, the happiness had dissipated, slowly at first, then all at once.

In place of laughter, arguments that had started as small, silly disagreements grew in to silences that stretched for hours, then days. He no longer sent you messages on his lunch break, had no time to spend with you, let alone watch movies any more. You caught him smiling at his phone more than your attempts at resurrecting silly old in-jokes. When you stopped all correspondence with your wedding vendors, he didn’t even ask why.

When he started spending nights away from home, the excuses had been plausible enough at first; late nights at the office, work nights out, meeting up with friends from college you’d never heard him talk about before. Your questions had been met with cool indifference until one night when they’d been met with a wild, angry outburst. You’d stopped asking after that.

A feeling of uneasiness had started to follow you around in your every day; suspicions that you knew you had to do something about, you just weren’t sure what. Complicated feelings, causing you to examine your definitions of love and hate, and trying to establish whether one always came with a healthy dose of the other, whether you were willing to compromise and hope for somewhere in the middle. All of your feelings had been horrifyingly validated when your entire world came crashing down around you overnight.

You remembered every detail about it with sickening clarity- waking up alone in bed to the sharp ring of your phone at an hour when no one should have been calling, the voice on the other end telling you there had been an accident. You’d barely processed the words before you were pulling on clothes and a coat, rushing to the hospital, heart beating wildly in your chest.

But you’d arrived too late. They’d told you he hadn’t made it in words too clinical and detached. They’d handed you a bag with his belongings, and you’d clutched it to your chest in an empty waiting room for an hour, staring blankly at the floor.

And then, there had been her.

She had been waiting for you in the corridor, bruised and shaken. You didn’t know her face then, but you’d learn it soon enough. She had been in the car with him and survived, miraculously, with only minor injuries. You’d had nothing more to offer her than a vacant stare as she explained everything- hysterical, face blotchy with tears. When you hadn’t said anything, she’d panicked and begged you to let her come to his funeral, said that she loved him too, that he would want her there. She’d known he was dead before you had.

You swallowed hard and rubbed at your temples, as you brought yourself back to the moment, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You didn’t want any of this to pull you under, even if you were being forced to confront it again, so you decided to spend the rest of the day at the hotel bar, ignoring anyone who tried to speak to you, mulling over just how rough the next couple of days were going to be.

You tried to keep your routine- you went to a coffee shop first thing on Sunday, sat next to the window and watched the world go by. But everything was wrong; the coffee, the view out of the window, the absence of a certain someone, even the noise around you. The overwhelming buzz of the city used to excite you, now it just left you with a sinking, empty feeling in the pit of your stomach; something that almost felt like fear.

As you watched people hurry past, every sip you took was more bitter than the last. You had a whole day to kill, and while you had considered spending it in your hotel room, you couldn’t bring yourself to stare at those green walls any longer.

Determined not to let anxiety dictate the day, you decided to visit some of the places you’d once loved, the spots in the city where you’d spent so much time it felt like you’d left pieces of yourself in them.

The MoMA was first on your list - a place you’d always considered a sanctuary. Wandering through the galleries that morning, you were relieved to find that it still had the same calming effect on your nerves. You took your time, moving from room to room in silence, letting the morning pass leisurely, surrounded by familiar, beautiful pieces of art.

From there, you walked to Bryant Park, where you used to sit with a book on sunny afternoons. The lawn was full of people enjoying the unseasonably warm weather and you were inclined to join them. By early afternoon, you were almost ready to admit that you were having a nice time. You crossed a few more spots off the list- you’d stuck to Midtown, consciously avoiding anywhere that might trigger any more memories, and so far, it had worked. You felt a tentative sense of accomplishment, and allowed yourself a moment to bask in it.

The moment didn’t last very long. You were crossing the street when you saw him- or you thought you did. The man walking toward you, tall and lean, had the same blonde hair, the same confident stride, the same style of suit that your ex had favoured. Your heart seized, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe. You gawped after the man as he passed you, but he didn’t even spare you a glance.

It wasn’t him. You knew it wasn’t. But the resemblance was enough to send a shockwave through your system. You turned abruptly, ducking into the nearest doorway, which happened to be a bookstore.

Inside, you beelined for the back of the shop, hoping to find a quiet spot to let your breathing even out. Your chest felt tight as you tried to count the books on the shelves in front of you, the titles on the spines blurring together. It took a while, but gradually the tightness began to ease. You found an empty chair tucked in to a corner, plopped down on to it and let the panic drain from your body.

Eyes wandering over the shelves, you finally took in your surroundings. You were in the travel section. And, directly opposite you, at eye level, was an entire shelf dedicated to Texas guidebooks.

A laugh rose in your throat before you could stop it. It wasn’t loud, more of a choked exhale than anything. Of all the aisles in this, apparently massive, bookstore, you’d managed to park yourself in this one. As you leaned forward and read some of the titles, a smile crept across your face.

It felt like a reassurance- like a small, strange nudge from something bigger than you; a reminder that better things were waiting for you when all of this was over. You plucked the one with the brightest colours from the shelf and made your way to the cash desk, earlier panic almost forgotten.

The next morning, you checked out of the hotel without a backwards glance and hauled your case a few blocks to the lawyer’s office to arrive just as they opened.

It was a sterile and impersonal place, all polished wood, glass and muted tones. You sat across from your attorney, the pen in your hand feeling heavier by the minute.

“This is the last one,” she said, sliding the final document across to you. “Once you sign here, the sale is finalised, and I promise we won’t need anything more from you in person.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak and your hand moved automatically, scrawling your signature on the dotted line. The act was over so fast it felt surreal.

“You’re all set,” the lawyer said, gathering all the documents together, “Congratulations on the sale!”

Congratulations. The word rang hollow in your ears. You murmured a polite thank you, stood, and shook her hand. The smile you offered was thin, stretched over the exhaustion that had suddenly hit you.

You felt drained when you left the office- in every way imaginable. The sale of your apartment should have felt freeing- like closure, but it didn’t. Perhaps that would come later, you mused, once you were further away from it.

You hailed a cab without hesitation, desperate to leave. As the driver navigated through familiar streets, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap. You were loathe to give this city any more of your attention.

By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment in Austin, you were exhausted. The journey back had been blissfully uneventful, and every mile you travelled had chipped away at the tension in your shoulders, but the last few days had finally caught up with you.

You dropped your bag by the door and made your way to the kitchen to immediately pour a glass of the ‘celebration wine’ you’d left in there on Friday, primed and ready for your return. As you stood against the counter, eyes closed, taking another large gulp from your glass, it felt like you could finally relax.

The city outside your apartment hummed quietly, its sound different than the one you’d just come from. It was probably your imagination, but it felt softer - kinder, even. It was a sound you’d grown used to, had maybe even come to enjoy. This wasn’t home, not yet, but there was a comfort in being back in a space that was undeniably yours. Solace from being in a city that was free from the presence of ghosts.

You arrived at Harrison’s the next morning five minutes after they opened, and tried not to feel self conscious at being the only customer in the whole place. It didn’t take long before other people trickled in though, causing the nervousness in the pit of your stomach to subside just a little.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter- that if Joel wasn’t there or didn’t want to talk to you, it wasn’t the end of the world, but you’d ordered a black coffee for him just in case. You stared at the cup opposite you- it was probably cold by now.

When the door swung open and Joel walked in, your heart jumped. You’d almost forgotten how handsome he was. You called out to him before he could order and when his eyes landed on you his steps faltered. You waved him over with a bright smile, but the expression on his face gave you pause. His brow furrowed and an unreadable expression flickered across his face as he hesitated near the counter.

A pang of anxiety twisted in your chest. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you after all. You tried to keep the smile on your face, but the thought that you might have truly messed up your chance with him made your throat tighten. Finally, he crossed the room and sat down across from you, but the expression didn’t fade. You gave him another, smaller, smile and gestured to the coffee in front of him.

“Hey. I, uh… I wasn’t sure if you’d be here but I thought I’d try and make up for the days I missed if you were,” you said, sheepishly, “I realised after you left that I didn’t ask for your number and I felt like such an idiot. I had to fly back to New York last minute for… a family thing and I-”

His face finally broke in to a smile and he let out a soft laugh, thankfully interrupting you mid- ramble.

“Hey, darlin,” he said, his hand that rested on the table made a gentle dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just real glad to see you again.”

The fondness in his voice sent a wave of relief washing over you. You let out a breath and your bright smile returned. The last ounce of worry that had been gnawing at you seemed to evaporate.

“I’m glad to see you too,” you said, and hoped that he knew you really meant it. Joel glanced down at the coffee you’d bought for him and you reached out to stop him from drinking it with a nervous laugh.

“Stay put,” you said, the tension breaking as you stood, “I’ll order you a fresh one.”

“So,” Joel said after a sip from his new cup of coffee, his gaze soft and intent on you. “What took you back to New York?”

You’d mentioned to him on Friday that you’d not long moved to Austin from NYC and given him some very vague reasoning before moving on swiftly to a different topic. But now, as he sat across from you, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity, and given that it seemed to have disrupted his last couple of days as well as yours, you felt like you owed it to him to give him at least an honest answer.

“I’ll spare you the boring details,” you said, trying to be flippant. “I had to sign for the sale of an apartment. There was a.. tight deadline on it.”

Joel’s eyebrows raised further in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. You continued, “I didn’t want to go, but they said it couldn’t be done electronically and it was all a bit last minute, and extremely shitty. Well, most of it. I managed to visit a few of my old favourite spots.”

You shifted the focus and told Joel about the MoMA, about your favourite artworks there, about how much time you spent wandering around the place when you’d lived in New York. Joel listened intently, chiming in with questions from time to time, and you happily answered them, as long as there was no more talk of anything else you did in New York.

Eventually, he glanced at his watch and sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Hate to cut this short again sugar, but I gotta head to the office.”

“Of course,” you said, standing as he did. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re late again.”

Joel chuckled, grabbing his jacket and gathering up the coffee cups from the table. “This time, I’m not in a rush.”

You told him you should go too, that you had some client deadlines looming and had to catch up on some work. It turned out as you stepped outside that you were both heading in the same direction; him to his office and you back to your apartment. You fell in to step as you walked side by side, and the conversation picked up from where it had left off easily. At one point, Joel glanced at you, his tone light and hopeful.

“I figure we oughta exchange numbers. That is, if you’d like to?”

You beamed up at him, pulling out your phone. “I’d love to.”

The two of you swapped phones and typed in your numbers. When he handed yours back, his fingers brushed against your palm and lingered too long to be accidental.

As you approached a corner, Joel slowed. “This is me,” he said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of his office.

You smiled, pointing in the opposite direction. “And this is me.”

“Unless you plan on jettin’ off to another city…” Joel’s lips curved in to a teasing smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

Without thinking, you reached out, lightly touching his arm as you laughed. “Same time, same place,” you promised, your smile lingering. “I really mean it this time.”

Joel’s eyes softened, his gaze dropping briefly to where your hand rested on his arm before flitting back to yours. He stepped just a little closer and the air between you seemed to still. His fingers brushed against your elbow, the lightest of touches, but it sent a shiver racing up your spine. Neither of you moved for a beat too long, his eyes flicking down to your lips, just for a second.

“Have a good day, darlin’,” he said sincerely, taking a step back and dropping his hand. You already missed his touch.

“You too,” you said with a smile, voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage.

He gave you one last grin before he turned away with a nod. You stood there for a moment watching him disappear down the block, before finally heading toward your apartment. If you’d had the energy, you would have skipped all the way.

Next Chapter

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