#hes done some bad things in the past and he can come across very callous

[sehruncreative]

I love Percy Jackson, the series is amazing! I still love it as an adult. But its a easy read, something where I dont have to think, bc the stuff the book tells me is on a children/teens level. I already have learned my lessons from that book, I've grown. It's still fun to read but it's also a bit boring bc you know what will happen. Good and bad are easy cut.

I still love fantasy so I still read fantasy books. Yeah sex gets added when you go to the adult category but thats not the defining factor. The language is complexer, you can go a lot deeper with the problems bc the reader knows and understands that now, good and bad can get very confusing.

If you give me 2 books with the exact same letter count and one is a teen/childrens book and one is an adult one I will take longer to read the adult one, simply bc I have to think while reading.

No babe it’s so cool and hot that you always insist that fantasy books written to meet a 4th graders’ comprehension skills have more complex themes and a greater sense of praxis than anything written for adults

[asoulwithadream]

Proof of why Hozier pre-read the Good Omens S2 scripts and made Unreal Unearth based on it.

The song is very obviously "Crowley", as will be explained in this analysis that was very much not fueled by overconsumption of sugary pastries. You may believe that there is one line that does recall Aziraphale more than our loveable sad demon, however I do have a theoretical explanation for that to maintain the strictly demonic narrator. This song, much like its original meaning, is about how he feels betrayed and tricked, or at least, deluded by his own hopes.

You know the distance never made a difference to me. This is the metaphorical distance between them, as angel and demon. They’re considered the opposite of each other. Good and bad. The locations of their respective headquarters, (the basement and the top of the building) is also a physical show of the distance between the two in management and creature type.

I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea The lyrics say that he “SWAM” past-tense, so this would refer to actual things Crowley has done: he did step into a whirlwind of Hellfire disguised as Aziraphale, right? And he did run into a burning bookshop for him. Metaphorically, he did swim through a lot of fire. Ignored the vastness between all that can be seen and all that we believe Crowley believes that what he thought their relationship was (“us”), in the end, was just his own imagination or fantasy of what he wanted them to be. So I thought you were like an angel to me This is one of my favourite parallels in the song, due to the changing definition of “angel” throughout the song, and how it’s used in the phrasing. Here, “angel” becomes the goodness and kindness that Crowley sees in Aziraphale; how angels are traditionally viewed by humanity. Then, he adds “to me”, alluding to their special relationship, different from the usual angel/demon relations between Heaven and Hell. He thought that Aziraphale had been, was, and would be, good and kind, to him.

Funny how true colours shine in darkness and in secrecy To not only Crowley, but most beings, the secrecy here is God’s Ineffable Plan™, and the darkness is the Metatron’s manipulative meddling. In light of fulfilling it (through the Second Coming), Aziraphale shows his true colours by siding with the angels. If there were scarlet flags, they washed out in the mind of me Crowley justifies putting Aziraphale on a pedestal that “he didn’t deserve” (because of said betrayal) because he was so blinded by love and hope, that he couldn’t realise the extent of Aziraphale’s religious trauma and character. Where a blinding light shone on you every night and either side of my sleep In the Divine Comedy, Dante is blinded by light in order to see God. Aziraphale has been systematically coerced into siding with Heaven, and this blinding light is what he sees as his destiny and responsibility to the world and to God’s Plan™. I wouldn’t doubt that Crowley would have nightmares of this, considering that he canonically does sleep. Where you were held frozen like an angel to me Here is the second parallel of the term “angel”. Angel has now become what demons see angels like: cold, callous creatures, only different from demons by look and power. Aziraphale trapped himself (or “held” himself “frozen”) in his vision of a grander future, encouraged by the Metatron, which made him become distant and cold to Crowley in the time-span of a poorly-timed confession.

It ain't the being alone (sha-la-la) Here begins a part where Crowley seems to try convince both Aziraphale and himself that some of the consequences of the divorce don't really affect him, to emphasise the LAST effect, as will be explained below. Thus, being alone is a big part of being Hell’s representative on Earth, so that wouldn’t be the biggest hurt that Crowley experiences post-divorce. It ain't the empty home, baby (sha-la-la) Though I can imagine that the bookshop without Aziraphale is not the same, he could still find some nostalgic comfort in the place. And after all, it's as cold as his own apartment now. You know I'm good on my own (sha-la-la), sha-la-la, baby Crowley repeating the fact that he's alone. He reminds Aziraphale that he really doesn't care being by himself, maybe trying to get a jab at the angel by showing that "Us" can just be Crowley if h wants to. You know, it's more the being unknown So much of the living, love, is the being unknown What I believe hurt Crowley the most about the entire situation is that he thought that they knew each other and shared an incredibly special relationship given their circumstances (even if it was just platonic, and never ventured further). However, through choosing Heaven, the entire worth of their relationship seemed to shatter into pieces, as if Crowley never truly meant anything to Aziraphale, as if they were never friends. And that hurts particularly, because to Crowley, Aziraphale was the only one to ever truly know him.

You called me "angel" for the first time, my heart leapt from me You could very clearly read this as from Aziraphale, however, it doesn’t make as much sense in the context of the song (as being predominantly Crowley coded), so I have another theory that could explain this line, that I, truthfully, like more: - Aziraphale has, through the history of their friendship, called Crowley a variation of “nice” due to different occasions (2500 BCE, 1793, 1827, 1941, 2019, and so on…) This calls back to the first usage of angel in the song, synonymous to the traditional qualities of holy beings (nice, kind, etc). Whilst Crowley does react negatively every time Aziraphale refers to him as such, imagine being seen for the first time in a positive light by someone you thought was your enemy after being condemned and judged as pure evil forever. Maybe this was what solidified Crowley’s feelings: the realisation (or, the fabrication of a delusion) that Aziraphale was different, that he was like him, that he could see through the pre-set prejudices. You smile now, I can see its pieces still stuck in your teeth Even in the end, during the 15 Minutes, you can still see Aziraphale smile, and I believe that Crowley recognised that Aziraphale in the one that was ultimately "betraying him". Of course, now there's this entirely new side of the angel, but I believe that in these moments he’s realising that both the angel he knew, and the angel he’s meeting now, were both Aziraphale all along. And what's left of it, I listen to it tick, every tedious beat Crowley’s hanging on to the last memories before they vanish completely. Their dying relationship is like a heart about to fail, a clock saying goodnight, and whilst I can imagine that Crowley would want to distance himself to avoid getting hurt any further, he would be able to completely, especially because of the lines after the next one. Going unknown as any angel to me Aziraphale, by becoming Head Archangel, has ceremoniously become the authority of Heaven itself, one of the many things that Crowley hates the most. By doing so, Aziraphale is now part of the group of angels that Crowley has as the second definition of “angel”. The ones that never knew him.

Do you know, I could break beneath the weight Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? I know that even though all of this happened, Crowley still has his feelings for Aziraphale. If he didn’t the 15 Minutes wouldn’t have been so painful, especially considering the weight and length of their relationship: they’ve been through Hell (literally) and knowing someone for so long can not be erased within a day. And I think that despite Aziraphale’s actions, Crowley still loves him, and with time will come to understand him. That I'd walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you The "ironic" line delivery is very much a testament to Crowley’s character and how he behaves, and most importantly, the betrayal which he feels. Anyways, Crowley has sacrificed both material and emotional value for Aziraphale. Not only did he give up God’s Ineffable Plan™ (not only for the angel, but he was a part of the reason), but he abandoned his position and allies in Hell and completely isolated himself to be on his and Aziraphale’s side, and helped the angel with the Gabriel crisis and its implication all throughout Season 2. And not only that, but confessing is also a pretty demanding and difficult task. Everything he’s done was for the person he imagined Aziraphale to be, only to be hurt by who Aziraphale actually is and what he’d actually do. Sacrifices thrown to the side.

It ain't the being alone (sha-la-la) It ain't the empty home, baby (sha-la-la, sha-la-la, la-la-la) You know I'm good on my own (sha-la-la), sha-la-la, baby You know, it's more the being unknown

And there are some people, love, who are better unknown Another jab at Aziraphale, trying to convey that Crowley regrets ever taking the time to know, befriend, and fall in love with the angel. He’s trying to convince the both of them that this was a waste of time, and that it was never truly worth getting to know each other, if heartbreak was the only conclusion of their relationship.

[the-darklings]

╱ together.

pairing: jean & v, implied other v ships

verse: coa, alt post-ch19 timeline

word count: 4.8k

prompt: “We’ll lose.” - “Then we’ll do that together, too.”

notes: so this is a speculative piece looking at how jean might have fit into coa verse & how him and clara v could have fit together. dedicated to that one anon who asked more of them, thank you very much for making my day! 🌿 ✨

“Well, well. Out here all by yourself and in the dark?” a smooth, accented voice calls out and your shoulders jolt, stiff with disuse, your head tipping towards the approaching figure of a man. “Have you been doing much brooding, chérie?”

Jean’s tall, graceful frame casts a shadow across the decking of the penthouse terrace as he saunters closer and you bite back a grin. With the cover of darkness as his partner, he’s a panther, a predator, out for a casual hunt in the shadows. Tonight, his prey is you. But he knows better than that. You both do.

The Frenchman halts beside you and takes a seat on your right without waiting for an invitation. This time a roll of your eyes follows his innate show of arrogance but you don’t impede him. Allow him space next to you which is a privilege very few have ever been granted.

It’s dark up here. Quiet. You didn’t bother with any lights aside from the automatic pool ones. Wind whistles gently across the tranquil surface, causing a ripple to shift across the previously calm body of water. Faintly—from the direction Jean had just come from—you can still hear the rest of your family inside the apartment.

The final touches are being added and prep is being made. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow will either spell the beginning of your victory or utter defeat. One of these scenarios ends with all of you dead, if not worse.

“And here you are bothering me in my final moments of peace,” you note dully.

The man beside you stretches his legs out, inclining back in the comfortable outdoors chair leisurely. Plush and Italian made—as if Santino would ever clad his home in anything that wasn’t authentic or expensive. A taste for finer things in life is something Jean and Santino share in common. Though you’ve long since learned that Jean’s appetite comes from a different place; a place you could always relate to, much to the Italian’s chagrin.

Wind plays with your loose hair—a rare occasion when it’s not pulled out of reach—and it leaves you breathing calmly, counting the thuds of your own heart. It’s not frantic this time though. You savour every beat of your heart now. Relish the moments you still have. However few of those there are still left.

Jean shifts beside you, pulling something out of his pocket and you glance at him briefly. The dark grey of his expensive wool jumper almost makes him blend in with the night, but the icy blue of his eyes stands out with the pool lights reflecting in them. If anything, it makes his attention feel even more intent. Honed.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke anymore?” he wonders innocently, a touch of sarcasm clear, and places an unlit cigarette between his lips, lighting it with expert ease a moment later.

He takes a long drag before pulling it away from his mouth and you watch his profile as he exhales slowly, savouring the moment, his head tilting towards the vast sky above you.

Using his momentary distraction, you reach forward, pinching the cigarette between your fingers and placing it between your lips instead. Jean doesn’t offer much resistance. As usual, he only looks mildly amused by your antics, a brief smirk appearing before it’s gone.

“Still greedy.”

Your lips twitch at that, too. “Some things don’t change.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the burning heat of the smoke at the back of your throat before passing the cigarette back to him. The smoke slips like dreamy wisps from between your parted lips and you look towards the open sky as well. Jean’s stare stays on your mouth. You know because you can always feel him. His attention is like silk caressing your skin, kissing little patches of skin, stealing them for himself.

You’re hardly the only greedy one here. He, too, exists in absolutes. More so than he would care to admit at least.

The blinding lights of New York City—even this late—almost drown out the stars but you can still see them. As cold and as distant as the man beside you. You want to ask him why he’s out here in the first place. Why would he bother? He may dress it up as wanting to smoke but everything Jean does is far too deliberate and calculated for this to be a mere coincidence.

Nor does the man beside you believe in such things. Master of his own fate—he always has been.

Jean places the cigarette back between his lips and turns to grab something from beside his chair. You hadn’t even noticed he was carrying something. Are you slipping this much already? Your instincts and body deteriorating even quicker than you calculated?

“May I interest you in a drink?” he offers, his words almost a soft murmur around his cigarette, and raises a bottle of wine and two glasses in the air.

You don't bother hiding your chuckle. “Trying to get me drunk on the eve of the battle?’

He, in turn, doesn’t bother denying it. He only bestows you with a knowing twitch of his mouth—all half-secrets and implications; dark and arcane as him, but doesn’t confirm nor deny your words no matter how long you wait.

“Maybe your hangover will be so terrible tomorrow you will abandon your suicidal plan, vipère.”

It’s a mild statement; a test of waters more so than anything, but you know Jean doesn’t speak mindlessly often. If ever. He chooses his words as carefully as he does everything else in his life. He’s methodical; oftentimes ruthlessly so.

You watch curiously as he places one glass next to your feet and one beside his own, opening the bottle with practised, near beguiling ease. He pours half a glass each, a cigarette bit between his teeth now, and you see how he inhales the smoke, still tasting tobacco on your own tongue. Red wine and cigarettes are two flavours you associate with him. With his mouth. The growl of his voice in your ear, the roll of your name on his destructive tongue.

A smudge of dark orange light illuminates his angular, handsome features and dark stubble and you can’t quite help your next words.

“You’re here.”

You hadn’t expected him to linger. His job was done. Yet here he is.

A small sound rumbles from the back of his throat. “I’m here because you asked me to be here,” he reminds you, and you can hear the displeasure—the downright callous edge to his amiable words—when he removes the cigarette from between his lips. Smoke slips from between them as he speaks, his eyes finding yours in the darkness. “Consider yourself very lucky that I owe you, V. After this, however, I’m not sure I’m ever going to bother you with business again. I’m not sure why you bothered inviting me here in the first place.”

Yes. His debt.

He’s tried to weasel out of it for years. Everything from trying to get you into trouble, outright attempting to get rid of you, to downplaying the sheer magnitude of it. He’s never succeeded, however, and has grown fond of comparing you to a viper with seven lives.

A life debt is a life debt though.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t think you’re half as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

Even if others have outright disagreed with your opinion of the man.

Jean snorts under his breath, a cool smile splitting his face, sharper than one of your blades. Shaking his head, he lifts the glass in the air, offering it to you. You take it after a pause, watching him do the same with his glass. “You’re right,” he hums in agreement, and takes a sip of his wine; a slow one because he never rushes these things, and you know it. The cigarette returns to his mouth a moment later and he turns to glance at you again. “I’m much worse.”

“You’re also smart,” you note without missing a beat and take a mouthful, too. It’s red and fruity, and the sweetness of it coats your tongue pleasantly. Though usually you aren't too fond of wine this sweet, Jean has developed a habit of finding things you love. However accidentally. Or perhaps he knows you better than you do. He no doubt believes so. It’s become another game for him over the years. One of his favourite games to play between you on the rare occasion you would run into each other. “And know that if you betray me and my family, death will be the least of your worries.”

You don't bother mincing your words or implying things. Not this time. Not when it comes to this.

If he betrays you, he will die choking on his blood regardless of your past association or lingering fondness for him. You will rip him to shreds with your bare hands if he ever so much as attempts it.

Bringing him in on this has been the biggest risk you ever took. Everyone opposed you. Even John. Winston had been the only one who—no matter how reluctantly—eventually agreed that Jean Laurent could end up becoming a unique and unexpected advantage.

You proved your own suspicion correct. Combining Jean’s web of information with Step’s hacking skills has been as good as striking a goldmine. It’s been invaluable in gathering intel on all the members of the High Table and their weaknesses.

A vicious, clever spider sitting in the middle of his silky web of information, and you have taken advantage of every single thread in it.

You’ve been watching his every move since he joined your side like a hawk. You don't trust him—can’t trust him. You would be a fool to do so, and even though he has stuck by his word so far, you still feel like the moment you glance away from him will be the moment he sells you out.

One leak, one sly suggestion—that’s all it would take for everything you’ve been working towards to fall apart. Everything would be lost, and it would be your fault.

All because you placed some semblance of trust in the last man on earth deserving of it.

“My, my, I do love it when you talk dirty to me, vipère,” he murmurs lightly, his voice unconcerned but the shift in his eyes informs you how your words have been noted. He knows better than to dismiss you.

Jean raises the glass back to his mouth, a smouldering cigarette sitting snugly between his index and middle fingers, and you watch how the wind ruffles his black hair.

This time smoke rolls from his nose. He gazes at the New York skyline silently, pensively. Maybe he did mean his earlier words after all. Maybe he simply joined you because he, too, wants a moment to himself.

Cold nips at your fingertips—you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been sitting out here by yourself—and perhaps that’s the reason why you break the silence between you first.

“You came because I asked,” you begin carefully, still peering at him while he looks out towards the world. Forever looking ahead. You always loved that about him. Jean doesn’t like looking back, only ahead. Often you wished you could shake your past as easily as he seemingly can shake his. How many times has he told you the same? “But you chose to stay. Why?”

His expression remains impassive, not outwardly reacting to your words, and you begin to doubt he will ever offer you a response before he finally speaks up.

“It will never work,” he states frankly. “This plan of yours. It cannot be done. We’ll lose.”

Of course this is what this is about. He’s always been out for himself. The fact that he thinks your plan will fail should not surprise you. He told you as much the moment you finished telling him about it. He point-blank called you an idiot for ever thinking you could take on the High Table and win.

You are many things, V, but foolish is not one of them.

You had hoped these weeks spent planning and working together would have changed his mind. Shown to him that this isn’t a simple pipe dream. That you have the raw skill and the will to follow through with this coup.

You wanted Jean to believe in this goal—this dream—too.

He is, of course, not wrong.

The longer you planned, the more of this plan came together, the easier it became to see what he’d been saying from the start.

You are not only likely to lose, you are near guaranteed to do so.

Unless…

Unless you gamble away everything. Whatever little there is still left of you. The clock is already ticking. It has been for two months now. Every minute of every day the end is nearing. The least you can do…

The least you can do is make it count.

“Then we’ll do that together, too,” you say softly.

And it won’t be such a terrible way to go, you think, keeping them safe.

Jean finally drags his eyes your way. The bitterness creasing his expression cuts deeper than you ever could have expected it to. It’s rare for him to show this much.

“Do not tell me you are this naive, chérie,” he says coldly, his expression emptying of emotions swiftly. He seems to have caught himself in the uncharacteristic slip, exhaling a low, “But it seems like this night is full of disappointments,” he adds quietly with a forced exhale, his eyebrows curving downwards.

Neither of you speaks for a while after that.

You cradle the wine glass between your partially numb fingers, occasionally lifting it to your mouth.

Maybe you should get drunk. Do something reckless. The call of the void has been screaming at you as of late. Seductive whisper after seductive whisper how you could and should do anything you want. With whoever you want.

L'appel du vide, vipère, Jean used to exhale hotly against your ear, it is why you and I are the same. Your days are numbered unless some miracle happens and you find an antidote anyway.

But feeling hopeful after failing for two months straight is not something you can muster up tonight.

You realise, then, that this may very well be the last opportunity to get some answers from the man beside you. Get some rectification on your odd bond over the years. Not your first attempt but what will certainly be your last.

“Do you think…”

You’re suddenly unsure where to even begin. How does one untangle years of tiptoeing around different labels? Enemies that are not quite enemies. Lovers that are not quite lovers. Friends when it suits them, then the cycle repeats, and it’s like they’re back at square one all over again. Constant push and pull.

You’ve never been sure where you stand with Jean. Two years ago everything between you changed but unlike with others, he’s always been every blurred line in your life. An almost-maybe.

“I try to,” comes his dry response from beside you.

You roll your eyes, bobbing your leg up and down as another gust of wind sweeps across the silent terrace.

Jean has finished his cigarette, his shrewd stare now focused on you, expectant.

Go on, then, say it, his unfaltering stare seems to goad.

You’re not nervous. You have nothing left to fear, not anymore. But all the same…

You’re tired of constantly being hurt by someone. Your question opens the door for exactly that.

“Do you think we ever could have worked out?”

Had life gone just a little different. Had you met when you were both less guarded and twisted up inside. You, at least, have managed to find people willing to stand in your corner and fight your fight.

He’s all alone.

And maybe he prefers it that way—he has certainly always been adamant that he does—but you’ve never believed it. Not fully, at least.

A house full of people he could string along and play with, yet the liesmith seeks refuge out here in the dark. With you.

A thoughtful hum, then, “Don’t let your gaggle of boyfriends hear you asking me that.”

You almost splutter.

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing, “I don’t have a gaggle of…fuck you,” you spit when you spot his smug expression and a raised brow.

“You have,” he purrs, his accented words a caress of his hot mouth across your fluttering pulse. “Many, many, filthy times, amante. Or am I so easy to forget?”

“You know, for how often you go on about Santino stroking his ego,” you remark dryly, giving him a pointed stare. “You sure do it often yourself.”

Jean clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat, more irked by the change in the topic than he lets on. You’ve learned to read him as well. To a degree, at least.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by D’Antonio’s drooling?” he scoffs, words bland but tone sharp. “It’s frankly embarrassing. Either he’s atrocious at seducing you and you’re entertaining him out of pity, or he doesn’t understand you at all.”

His words dig into your heart but you don’t let him see it. Quirking an amused brow, you instead stare at him. “At this point, I honestly can’t tell if you hate him because you’re French and he’s Italian or because you don’t like him as a person.”

Jean grins this time; a dark, cruel thing. “Ah, chérie, hatred is too strong of an emotion to waste on someone I don’t care about,” he rebukes smoothly, standing to his feet. He glances in your direction, adding a deliberate, “But D’Antonio hates me because I won the one thing he always wanted but could never have.”

You.

Even if it weren’t for the deliberate, hot dig of Jean’s stare focusing on your face, you know as much already.

Blue depths drag over your still shape, lingering on your neck and lips, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on all the wicked things he’s done with them. Every moan and bruise, every hot drive into your body and mould of your naked skin together. He’s been an escape from everything. A bit of fun, a release, a shadow smearing in and out of your life for years.

Now though, you can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but consider why it’s always been so easy with him when it hasn’t been with others. Why every pursuit of happiness in the past has ended in misery and pain. With Jean, you always got exactly what you signed up for.

Mindblowing sex, thrill, challenge, and an escape without any attachments. No promises of a glowing future or expectations for you. He never made you live under the expectation of you being anything other than yourself. Messy and cracked around the edges but still you.

Jean has never cared for a normal life or demanded it of you, never wanted you to become an apprentice or Lady of anything.

You’ve always been enough to him just as you are, you realise with a dizzying rush. And his awful, seductive, traitorous self has always been enough for you as well. He’s never tried to change you or himself to appease you.

Not hearing a response, Jean offers you another striking grin you know has seduced endless numbers to his bed and turns to go.

“Wait!” you call out, jumping to your feet. Your joints protest, groaning and cracking, and stumble a step after him. He’s paused in his tracks, turning back towards you. “You never answered my question. If you think we could have worked out.”

You stand together, breathing, and he gazes at you for a long, charged minute. It’s nigh impossible to tell what’s going on behind his effortless mask of ease and composure. Always in control of himself and his emotions.

You’re about to ask him again but he closes the distance between you in two steps, grabbing you by the neck and yanking you to him. His mouth is hot and consuming as you remember it. His tongue drags over the roof of your mouth, seeking out every edge, every crevice, claiming it entirely. Claiming you. Despite him standing almost a head taller, you snake your hand around his neck, savouring his hiss of breath at the feeling of your cold fingers on his heated neck. Broad shoulders block the wind, block the rest of the world, and you sigh into him. He still tastes of smoky tobacco and sweet wine. A dizzying mix that stirs your body, warming your blood. Your nails drag up his neck and into the strong strands of his midnight hair, scratching all the while. You feel his hold on the back of your neck tighten in response.

The battle between you two never ceases and you can feel him grinning against your mouth, as if he, too, is having the same epiphany.

“Don’t die,” he exhales hotly against your parted lips when you separate with a gasp, still holding you to him, every hard edge of his body cutting into you. “Maybe then we can find out.”

Don’t die.

You almost burst into tears.

I’m dying right now, you want to confess to him. Would he stay if he knew as much? Would he stay until your heart halted inside your chest and you became forever still? Would he be kind if you asked him to be? Just this once?

He’s unaware of your internal struggle, dragging his thumb over the line of your jaw. Lips parted, and eyes hooded—you’ve seen this side of him many times. The sensuous lover with his sultry eyes more sapphire than blue now that he’s gazing down at you. How many times has he stared at you exactly like this? Caught dragging his tongue over every crevice of your body, his favourite being the dip between your thighs and your neck.

Jean nudges backwards, and you read his question there, his body asking what his tongue won’t.

If you’re joining him in bed. If tonight you’re his. Another stolen instance between you.

“I can’t,” you say quietly. He doesn’t appear surprised or angry by your refusal, his hands slipping from your body with a nod. But you don’t let him retreat, grasping his forearm, feeling the coil of muscle where you’re holding onto him. “Wait.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out a familiar, heavy object. Gold gleams in the low light and you turn the circular disk, warmed by your body.

Jean stiffens at the sight of it. You both know what it is.

Opening the Marker with a too quiet click, you release your hold on him, staring at the print of his blood smeared inside.

He helped you only because the High Table would have hunted him if he hadn’t obeyed his Marker, you remind yourself. You silence the voice inside your head that reminds you he could have sold the information to them for immunity if he so wished.

Exhaling, you press your thumb against the tiny needlepoint, not reacting to the bite of pain. Blood wells against your skin and you stare at it for a moment.

You’re not sure if Jean is still breathing but you feel the intensity of his stare searing into your body.

Breathing deeply, you press your thumb harshly against the cool metal. Another second later you pull back, staring at your dual blood prints on the metal plate. Your insides quiver at the sight of it.

This is the way it’s always been between you. Shadows and blood, secrets and hunger.

Sometimes…

Sometimes in between those moments, you could almost pretend he loved you.

“We both know you were going to leave anyway,” you begin tightly, closing the Marker with a grim smile, holding it out to him. “This was just another shitty goodbye. Never thought you’d manage to top Venice. Or Berlin for that matter. But now you’re free. I no longer want you here, so don’t be here tomorrow. Save yourself while you still can.”

He doesn’t deny your words. He at least respects you enough to not dismiss you like he would others. Let them tangle themselves in a web of speculations and doubts. Jean enjoys few things more than people choking on their own words. A rope of their own fashioning is poetic justice, he used to tell you.

He reaches for the Marker, the one damn thing that’s always tied you together, and takes it. A stab pierces your heart to see it in his grasp. Now there’s nothing between you. You don’t doubt his earlier words. It’s unlikely he will want to associate with you in the future after this.

Doesn’t matter now though. You’re likely to be dead by tomorrow, or another few weeks if you’re lucky.

If.

“You knew.”

Your smile is grim. “Of course. I know you better than you think.”

He won’t risk himself for a plan doomed to fail.

You drop your hand but he grabs it before it can fall back to your side. This time his kiss is different. Hungrier, simmering with some desperation you’ve only caught glimpses of a few times in the past. A silent war in him you’ve never been able to decipher. Jean cups one of your cheeks, leaning over your at an angle that’s unlikely to be comfortable with your height difference but you savour it all the same. His heat. His presence. The burn of his stubble scratching against your skin. More, more, more. You want every last bit of him.

You’ve never noticed how safe a man this dangerous makes you feel. After Tokyo, Chicago, after the desert, after everything you’ve been through, you never thought you’d ever feel like this again.

Alive.

For being no better than glaciers, cold and merciless, nothing burns better than him.

His nose nudges against your cheek—it’s too big, you put that nose any closer to me and you might take an eye out—his arm, an iron band around your waist. Jean is never shy about his touches, he knows exactly how every inch of you trembles and shudders. He’s spent endless hours familiarising himself with every inch of you after all. You hate how you feel a silent goodbye in every second of your body curled against his now.

“Come with me,” he says, and it borders on a snarl, a demand. “Arrêter… this stupidity now and come with me. My web goes far and wide. I could hide you.”

“And go where?” you wonder softly, leaning into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek despite the chipped bite of his native tongue. You’re desperate for another few seconds with him.

You never thought you would miss him this much, that you would ache so much at the mere thought of never seeing him again.

“Anywhere, vipère,” he drawls, tugging you closer as if he’s a hair away from throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing into the unknown. For a single second, you want him to. “The world is ours. A beach. You and me, and a whole lot of naked skin,” he continues with a seductive grin you feel against your face.

Seduction—his preferred weapon of choice. You wonder if you’re imagining the harder bite of his voice and meaner grip of his hands, as if he needs to convince you to abandon everything and disappear.

Your closed eyes flutter open, meeting his earnest stare. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more earnest in all the years you’ve known him.

“I want to,” you tell him, leaning closer to kiss him once, softly. His muscles tighten and you half expect him to flinch away from it because it’s not lust you’re kissing him with, and he knows this. He’s too good not to recognise it. Leaning back, your breaths still mingle, and you inhale his cologne, “But I’m done running, Jean. One way or another. This ends. Now go. I don’t need you anymore.”

He pulls back, his smile cool, caustic. “You’re still a terrible liar, amante.”

The golden Marker disappears inside his pocket. Out of sight.

“I do believe there’s more left for me to teach,” he drawls deliberately, his smile smoothing into something more enticing, crooked as it is sly. “I’ll be seeing you, V.”

There’s no question there. You don’t have the heart to inform him you’re unlikely to ever see each other again.

When no one can locate Jean in his room or reach him over the phone the next morning, you simply tell others to stop looking and focus.

It’s better this way anyway.

At least this way one of you gets to live.

[sour-n-salty-citrus]

Do you like the backstory for rick? Idk I kinda preferred it when Rick's past was a complete mystery and i dont really care about diane at all. I didn't expect the writers to actually write a canon for him either but I guess they realised how much the audience wanted one for him

Ajdjdjeidjs ack, I'll be honest I'm not... keen on it.

(Bolly-quinn actually puts it into words well how I feel about Rick's backstory here)

I liked the mystery element of his backstory! I know it's always exciting to have things in canon, but like... it being open to interpretation was something I always appreciated.

And... ugh, hoo boy. I'm torn. I mean, I love that Rick is completely different from what dudebros and like- "high iq" redditors present him as. He's a man who loved his wife and daughter, loved them so much he would rather give up travelling the multiverse, becoming a genius scientist, just to stay with them. He was vulnerable, soft, and caring. He wasn't nihilistic and reckless and selfish and some "alpha male who wouldn't let anything tie him down". He was ridiculously romantic, optimistic, sweet and loving, and maybe even kind.

And I don't give a shit.

I don't! I don't care. This might sound incredibly cruel and unfair, but I don't care that Rick lost his family.

Ok- let me explain.

I'm... disappointed. I'm disappointed that losing Beth and Diane is all it was that made Rick into the complete and utter monster he is today (or the start of the series anyway). I don't mean to undermine his loss and grief- at all! It's just... for him to go on a (seemingly decades long) killing spree, slaughtering any version of himself he seemed to come across... christ. Maybe in his eyes, they were all as bad as that One. Which is understandable. I'm very lucky to have not experienced that kind of loss. I haven't had to Grieve the way Rick did. Maybe I just don't get it, because I've never felt it. That's fair.

It just felt... god, I don't want to say excessive. I know, people process grief in different ways, and for some it manifests in unhealthy ways, some lash out at the world, fixate on trying to find an explanation, to find justice, etc. And I like how Rick was an absolute inconsolable wreck at first. Something like that, it needs time to process and overcome before you can start moving again.

I just- I don't know. Something rubbed me the wrong way about it all.

It's like- it's not that I wanted Rick to have spent all that time partying or something. It's just- argh, i don't know! Maybe someone else can put it into better words lol.

I hate that he immediately jumped into not giving a single shit about other people (save birdperson and squanchy!). Like- when he blew up those aliens who gave him whatever it was he needed. Ah- ok, they probably weren't exactly innocent or anything, but still. I think it was just I felt if we ever saw Rick's backstory, I'd want it to be a slow decline into who he is, show him gradually losing so much of his morality and becoming so jaded. Idk i guess i just wanted it to be like, a series of significant (and lesser but still important) events that lead to him going down that path rather than- this ONE thing that just apparently completely ruined him? And yeah ik ik it was a BIG thing, but like- i guess i was expecting.... more? Maybe something like idk Rick trying to save all the other Beths and Dianes and failing, idk, just... something more.

I actually would have preferred it if Diane lived. I dont know, I just- man I really hate the dead wife/daughter turns ordinary man into callous asshole trope. I agree, it's hard to really care all that much for Diane, and for a while I couldn't understand why. I thought, idk, is it internalised misogyny? Do I just not like Diane because I want to ship Rick with someone else?

I think I get it now. Diane, for all her significance in Rick's backstory, just... isn't a character. She's just- the motivation Rick needed to kick off the story. You could replace her with literally anybody else Rick could have loved and it wouldn't feel any different. She just doesn't feel special. She's no more unique than any other Dead Wife. We get nothing, literally nothing of her. I kept thinking, why? Why does this just not hit that hard? Rick's had emotional moments with Beth, with Birdperson, even with Summer and Jerry. And then I got it- it doesn't feel earned. It felt like how you feel when you see side characters or extras in the background of an action movie die. Maybe some faint sadness, but mainly nothing. We as an audience get nothing from Diane, we don't know her, don't get to see how she matters to Rick, don't get to see her relationship with Rick, we don't get any chance to connect with her character. So when she dies and Rick gets his montage of seeking revenge, it doesn't feel earned. It feels more like I'm being told about how this guy suffered than really seeing it (which i believe, may have been the writers intention actually...). It's kind of like a feeling of "damn that sucks bro... and?". There's no real heavy emotional response that I could really get from it...

I actually would have preferred if Rick and Diane broke up, divorced. I feel like that would offer so much more for them BOTH as chatacters. Instead of their relationship being happy and sunshine and rainbows until a Big Bad came in and took that away, I'd prefer it if Rick's downfall was just... his fault. (Actually His fault.) If his marriage fell apart because he couldn't make it work. If he estranged his daughter because he couldn't properly handle fatherhood, despite loving her. If he was flawed, terribly flawed, because of his own misjudgement and shortcomings. I guess my biggest problem, is that this is presented as someone having the perfect life, which is then taken away as a result of someone Else. It's too easy to then say, oh, it's not his fault he's like that! He had his heart broken, his life ruined! He lost himself in a revenge spree, poor thing... I'd have rathered if it was just a little bit more... realistic? If Rick had been the root cause of his own problems. If he'd experienced tragedy, but also been the cause of much more. I just wish there'd been more of a balance? It just felt so rushed. And not because of the montage- it just like Rick became completely apathetic way too fast. I just hate hate HATE the "he was a good guy with the perfect little life until tragedy struck and he was never the same". Rick never made the effort to improve his life, to do better, to be better. He's actively a cruel, callous, unkind person (complex, yes, but these are traits no one can deny he harbours). He's done far worse than was done to him, and that will never be justifiable to me... it just all feels so very cliche and out of place, and out of everything, this was the one thing I had hoped they wouldn't do.

I think the writers are aware of this, strangely enough. I mean, Rick even calls it his "crybaby backstory". I think they didn't want to leave it open any longer, and just got it out of the way. I don't think they really want to elaborate on it anymore. From what I predict, they want to focus on the here and now of Rick (and Morty, haha), and the development of who Rick is NOW, instead of who he WAS. I think they kind of just went, here's your gut-punch, your tragic backstory, now leave it alone. Diane is dead, Rick had a hard past, the series is about moving on and change. Now can we PLEASE get back to the sci-fi shenanigans?

(There was something I LOVED about the backstory though, and that was the soundtrack! Like the music for the Battle of Bloodridge, it fucking SLAPPPEDDDD. I can't imagine making synthwave emotional, but it actually kind of worked! The swell of the music actually did a lot more for getting a reaction out of me than the content lmaooo. It kind of reminded me of Kurzegast's "optimistic nihilism" for some reason... I actually liked the Bloodridge track so much, it got me a little into synthwave, which i never listened to before! The music producers this season have just KILLED IT!)

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

One More Night

Pairing - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary - While wandering around town with your partner, you run into an old flame, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He needs your help, and even though you have your reservations about helping the Republic, you agree. But when he lets slip the reason he hasn’t contacted you in so long, you can’t help but question everything you thought you knew about his feelings for you. 

Word Count - 5,806

Warnings - Smut 18+ only! 

It took you a grand total of about two minutes for you to realize that you were being followed. It would have been less time, but you had gotten distracted by a fight breaking out between a Togruta and a Rodian. The dark robes were unmistakable though after you had turned three corners, and they were still behind you. “So how long have they been following us?” You asked the blue Twi’lek walking with you. 

“Oh, around five minutes. I was wondering when you’d catch on.” She said, smirking over at you. 

“You could have told me.” You replied, rolling your eyes at her. 

“What would be the fun in that?” She asked, her fingers tapping at the weapon clipped to her waist. “You take left, I take right?” 

“Have fun.” You replied, winking at her before you darted left and took off at a run. 

Your assailants hadn’t realized that the two of you had noticed them. That much was clear by the momentary panic and destruction they caused at your actions. You didn’t stick around to watch, but you could hear it behind you. You took off down the alley as fast as you could, dodging in and out of store fronts and trying to confuse the attackers. When you managed to get on top of a roof, you glanced down and discovered that the two that had been following had split up when Na’lona and you did. There was now only one that seemed to be tracing your steps. 

You weren’t about to stick around and find out who it was though. Taking off at a run, you kept going, changing up your path every few corners so it was never the same until you were sure you weren’t being followed anymore. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall of an alleyway. It was clear that you were getting way too old for this running around business. 

That was when you heard it. The hum of a lightsaber. You didn’t even have to open your eyes anymore to know who it was, but you did anyway. After all, who would want to pass up the sight of looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi, breathless and disheveled after chasing you for the past ten minutes? “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” You said, letting your eyes wander his form, from the messy hair and rosy cheeks, all the way down to his heaving chest and powerful stance. 

It was easy to forget about the lightsaber pointed at your chest. “Did you have to run?” He asked, ignoring your taunt and sounding exasperated. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Getting old, Obi-Wan? Last time I saw you, I seem to recall you having plenty of stamina. Of course that was about a year ago.” You took a great deal of pleasure at the sight of his composure faltering for a brief moment as his cheeks, already flushed with pink, darkened. 

The hum of his lightsaber disappeared as he deactivated it, and instead of the usual quip back, you frowned as he took a step away from you. “A lot can happen in a year.” Obi-Wan replied. 

“Ah yes, a War torn Galaxy, droids everywhere and Clones led by the former Peacekeepers now turned soldiers. Should I call you General now?” You teased him,  biting your lower lip. 

It had been so long since you had seen him, you had forgotten how captivating those vivid blue eyes were. You couldn’t take yours off them, not that you wanted to, so you didn’t miss the way they followed your movement. “I’d prefer if you didn’t, but it’s nice to see some things never change.” 

“Master!” 

Torn out of the bubble that the two of you had created for yourselves, you both glanced behind Obi-Wan to find the other brown cloaked figure running towards the two of you. At about that time, you caught sight of Na’lona on the nearby roof, everyone else oblivious to her presence. She sent you a wink, and you watched in amusement as the other Jedi that had been chasing her fell over a box that had not been there moments ago and crashed to the ground. 

You couldn’t help but let out a snort as Obi-Wan shook his head. “Is that your Padawan?” You asked. “The Chosen one you’re always complaining about?” 

“That would be him.” He answered, watching as the boy you remember being called Anakin stood up. 

He looked back and forth between Obi-Wan and you, then at the ground where he had been moments ago. “Master, is she a Jedi? Is that why you didn’t want to tell me about her?” 

A snort left your lips as you looked at Obi-Wan, trying not to laugh even harder. “He thinks I’m a Jedi? Na’lona, did you hear that? He thinks I’m a Jedi.” You called in the direction of your friend, watching as Obi-Wan’s expression changed at the name. 

She appeared a few feet in front of you, landing with a delicate grace that left no doubt as to who was the Jedi here. “He’s not the brightest is he?” She asked, and then turning to the man in front of you. “Master Kenobi. It’s been a while.” 

“It has indeed.” It was hard to describe his tone. There seemed to be many layers to it, regret, disappointment, and even a hint of intrigue. “How, may I ask, did the two of you come to meet?” 

“Well, that’s a long story, Obi, and by the efforts you’ve made to talk to me so far today, I get the feeling you don’t have time for such a thing.” You had to admit, you were curious. It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had sought you out, and in the midst of a war, you couldn’t help but wonder what could be so important that he would have to take time from the battlefield to find you. “So let’s cut to the chase here. What is it that you need?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. 

One of the things you liked about Obi-Wan was that he never attempted to beat around the bush with you. He never tried to soften any sort of blow because he knew how much you hated it. This time was no different. “The Republic needs your help, and if you refuse, I’ve been ordered to arrest you.” 

Oh it had to be bad then. The Republic hated you, as they hated all smugglers. If they were in need of one, they must be very desperate indeed. Looking into Obi-Wan’s light eyes, you could see the pleading there, and you knew he was begging you not to make this any more difficult than it already was. If it had been anyone else they sent, you might have fought, attempted to escape, but it was Obi-Wan, and you had never been able to deny him anything. “It doesn’t seem as if I’m being given much of a choice then.” 

The relief in his eyes was palpable, and his whole body seemed to relax somewhat as he turned to Na’lona. “You know, the Order could use someone with your skills again Na’lona. We need Jedi like you -”

“And return to the Order that abandoned my Master? Not a chance.” She replied, her face hard as she looked at Obi-Wan before looking at you once more. “You’re on your own for this.” 

As much as you hated to be without your partner these days, you could understand her reasoning. The Jedi Order and her did not have a good history. In fact, it was so terrible that she had rebelled from the Order all together after her Master had been murdered, and the Jedi had done nothing about it. She wasn’t a Sith by any means, but she no longer believed in the ways of the Jedi, so going back for her would not turn out well. “Keep the ship safe for me?” You told her. 

“You got it,” she agreed, thankfulness in her eyes as she took off down the alley in a sprint. 

Obi-Wan moved to go after her, but you grabbed his wrist. “It’s me, or neither of us.” You told him, your voice hard. While you would do a lot for Obi-Wan, betraying your friend would not be one of those things. 

He stared at you for a moment, and you had that feeling you always got when he was gazing into your eyes, as if he was reading the deepest parts of your soul. After a few moments, he nodded, and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Of course that turned into a frown as you heard a clicking noise, and looked down at your now bound hands. 

“Is this necessary?” You asked, rolling your eyes as you held them up. 

Obi-Wan smirked at you, looking more like himself than he had the whole time he had been standing there. “Appearances of course. I’m sure you understand.” 

You scoffed. 

____________________

It was impossible not to stare as you made your way onto what must be the largest ship in the Republic Fleet. As a Smuggler, you had come across your fair share of large transport ships, but this? This was like nothing you had ever seen before. Gleaming silver metals, smaller ships, clones in white armor with various other colorings running around and checking systems . . . it was a whole different world. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you speechless.” Obi-Wan’s amused voice said behind you, his hand a soft pressure against the small of your back as he urged you forward. 

His words pulled you out of your trance, and you turned around to grin at him. “Come on now, Obi-Wan, don’t settle yourself short. I seem to recall a few times when I was speechless around you. Most of them involving that talented mouth of yours on my -”

Obi-Wan pulled you against him so fast, you lost your train of thought, the smile vanishing from your lips as his presence took up every one of your senses, his eyes once more locked on yours in an inescapable grasp, his scent of sunshine and linen filling your head, his sturdy body pressing against yours while his voice silenced the rest of the ambience in the room. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so callous speaking about our history in front of everyone.” 

You attempted to regain control of yourself, but it was hard to do when he was standing so close to you it took over every thought you were having. When he spoke though, it reminded you of why it would never work between Obi-Wan and you in the first place. “Ah, of course, wouldn’t want anyone to know that the great, handsome, General Obi-Wan Kenobi had lowered himself to sleeping in the bed of some Smuggler.” You said, some of the fire being taken out of your tone by the breathless quality of your voice. 

If you hadn’t been so caught up in looking at his eyes, you would have missed the flash of disappointment in them. “You know that’s not the case.” He insisted, but before you could make another response, he had turned you back around and led you along the ship. 

Almost immediately you were rushed into a hologram meeting with Obi-Wan, Anakin, some clones, and several members of the Jedi Order. You didn’t say much, observing instead of butting in with questions to annoy them. Obi-Wan’s words had intrigued you, and you couldn’t get your mind off them and their possible meanings. For the past year, the only conclusion you had been able to draw from Obi-Wan’s lack of contact after your week together was that he had been embarrassed it had occurred in the first place. It had hurt, but you were a strong person and had gotten over it. Now, it was as if your galaxy turned upside down, and you had more than a million questions for the Jedi who stood in front of you, regal and elegant, but with a tenseness in his back that you couldn’t ignore. 

Obi-Wan had said a lot could happen in a year. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. 

“-you’re responsible if anything happens, Obi-Wan.” The words caught your attention and made you look up to see a hologram of Mace Windu lecturing Obi-Wan. 

His gaze shot over to you, lingering there for a moment as you looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. He then turned back to the hologram with a nod. “Understood,” was all he said. 

“Then the plan begins tomorrow. May the Force be with you.” Obi-Wan nodded, and the hologram ended. He gave a couple more orders to some of the other people in the room, and then he turned to you. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of quarters, but there is a small room we’ve made available for you to sleep for a few hours until we reach our destination.” 

There was a quip on the tip of your tongue, but your mind was still too filled with trying to come up with reasoning for Obi-Wan’s actions for you to say it. Instead you nodded, and let him lead you out of the chambers, and into a small room with a tiny bunk. 

“There’s a refresher through that door.” He pointed out to you. “If you’d like to get cleaned up.” 

You nodded, not saying anything, and your lack of words seemed to confuse him. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.” Obi-Wan said, raising his eyebrows at you. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you sat down on the cot, frowning at the uncomfortableness you could already sense, “thinking.” 

“Ah,” you expected him to inquire what about, and it seemed as if he wanted to, but then he pulled himself back with a slight shake of his head. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He started to back away, but you reached out, grabbing a hold of his hand. 

“What you said earlier, that being embarrassed of me wasn’t the case . . . what was the case?” You asked him, unable to keep the question inside of you any longer. You had to know. It would haunt you until you did. 

For a moment, it almost looked as if he wanted to reach out to you, and your mind flashed back to a memory of him doing that very thing a year ago, the brush of his fingers, the pressure of his body against yours and those blue eyes lighting a path to some of the best pleasure you had ever known to this day. 

But he resisted, and you watched as he took a step back. “Jedis aren’t supposed to form attachments, and I was already far too attached to you.” Obi-Wan told you, and while you had no Force abilities to know otherwise, truth rang in his voice. 

His words rendered you speechless, every word that you had told yourself to get over the time the two of you had together crumbling around you like a ship had blasted right through it. He used your silence as a means to leave, a small, sad smile on his face as he did so, shutting the door behind him and ending the conversation. 

It wasn’t fair, not when you still had so many questions for him. 

You waited about three minutes before you decided to follow him. It took you an embarrassingly long time to discover where he was staying on board, but after a plea to one of the clones, you found yourself knocking on the door. 

He answered, and not only did he answer, but he answered while wearing nothing but what you assumed were his sleeping pants. Seeing him like this once again threw you back into memories that you had such a hard time trying to forget. When he called your name though, it threw you out of your daze, and you shook your head to clear your mind. “What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asked you. 

“You can’t walk away after saying something like that. Not after spending a year avoiding any and all contact with me.” You told him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to argue, and indeed, that’s what the Obi-Wan you had known would have done, but instead he sighed and moved away from the door, giving you enough room to pass. “Would you like anything to drink?” He said. 

But you didn’t respond. When he had turned away from you, you couldn’t help but glance at his muscled back, and gasped in shock. 

It was covered with scars all in various degrees of healing. It was the type of scars you had seen on the backs of slaves that you had given passage to. It was whip marks. 

“Obi-Wan . . . What the hell happened to you?” You finally managed to speak, hurrying towards him and reaching out to touch the scars, but stopping at the last moment. You didn’t want to hurt him if they were bothering him. 

His tense shoulders dropped somewhat as he turned around to face you. It was clear that he was attempting to reassure you, but nothing he could say could do that after you had seen the marks marring his beautiful skin. A small, insincere smile formed on his lips. “It’s been a long year.” 

“Don’t give me any of that cryptic mess. Those are marks I’ve seen on slaves. Who did this to you?” You found yourself growing a mixture of angry and worried. Obi-Wan had said earlier that a lot could happen in a year, and you were now beginning to realize how much. 

“It’s none of your concern.” He replied, shaking his head at you. 

“Afraid I’ll find them and kill them?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Obi-Wan’s answer was quick. “Yes, and I don’t want any bloodshed on my behalf.” 

The two of you stared at each other, stubbornness on both of your faces as your eyes looked into the others. Eventually the resolve in his made you sigh and drop your arms. “Do you have tea?” You asked. 

He seemed a little startled by the change in subject, but nodded. “Yes, I’ll start the kettle -”

But you shook your head. “Not to drink.” You walked over to his cabinets until you found the box and began creating a mixture you had learned years ago. “It’s to help you. Some of those still look irritated.” 

“That’s unnecessary I have -”

“If you won’t tell me who did this to you, it’s the least you can do.” You told him, not leaving him any room for argument. Which he normally wouldn’t care about, but it was a testament to how much he must be hurting that he didn’t. The thought of anyone hurting Obi-Wan made you so angry your hands shook as they stirred the mixture. You knew the man could protect himself, and that he didn’t need you defending him by any means, but the fact that someone had hurt him to this degree made rage boil inside of you. Obi-Wan was such a good and pure man . . . how could someone ever do harm to him?

It was times like these that you were reminded of how you never would have made it as a Jedi. You let your emotions get the best of you way too often. 

Focusing back on the task at hand, you finished the mixture and instructed him to sit down in front of you. “Why haven’t you gone to the Medbay to get these healed? Doesn’t the Republic have enough funds to heal their saviors?” You asked him as you scooped some of the ointment into your hands and warmed it up with your hands. 

You watched as Obi-Wan gripped the chair in front of him, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew that his jaw was tense. “Some scars are worth remembering.” He answered. 

Almost as if you had no control over it, your eyes drifted down to your arm where a small scar ran across the front of it in a horizontal line. A scar that Obi-Wan had been with you when you got. That was a memory you had no desire to forget any time soon. “I guess you’re right.” You answered in a soft voice as you laid your hands on his back and started working the balm into his skin. 

As soon as your hands touched the top of his shoulders, he tensed, and you froze, wondering if you had done something wrong, and you yanked your hands away. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back at you for a moment. “Your hands are cold.” 

Except you knew that they weren’t. You didn’t point that out, nodding instead and as soon as he turned back around you got to work once more. Taking a glance at the scars, you decided to start towards his lower back where the scars had begun to fade and work your way to the top where they were the darkest. Your hands were gentle as you studied the marks, and the more and more you looked at them, the more certain you were that they were from whips. 

What had the Republic been sending him to do? 

“Obi-Wan -” You said, not wanting to break the quiet of the room, but unable to hold it in anymore. 

But he stopped you, and you watched as his hands tightened on the chair in front of him. “I don’t wish to speak about it. Please.” He added on, a pleading to his voice that you couldn’t ignore. 

You wanted to argue. You wanted to make him tell you, but you were no Jedi, and there had been a time when he had respected your wishes of not wanting to tell him something. The least you could do was return the favor now. 

So you got back to work, your hands working the balm into his skin, and you noticed with every passing second Obi-Wan became more relaxed, sinking into the chair in front of him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. 

While you emptied the last of the bowl onto his back, you couldn’t help but notice his reaction, and almost without you noticing, your hands began doing less of spreading the ointment, and more of massaging it into his skin. 

His reaction was immediate. Obi-Wan’s head dropped forward, resting on his hands as his shoulders slumped. You felt his back rise and fall under your fingertips with a shuddering breath as you continued a path from the small of his back up to his shoulders. 

You let your eyes trace the length of his back. Overall, everything looked the same as it had before. He had a few more scars, but mostly, it was as you remembered. Except this time you were seeing it in the light of his room instead of in the moonlight. 

It had been as electrifying then as it felt right now. 

“What do you remember about that night?” You whispered, not wanting to break the moment, but desperate to know if he was feeling the energy, the tension, rising in the room like you were. 

It took him a few moments to respond, and for a brief moment in time you thought he might have fallen asleep under your fingers, but then he spoke. “I remember everything.” He replied, as quietly as you had spoken. “How bright the moon was . . . How hot and humid that planet got . . .” 

Yes, you remembered that too. It had been a full moon lighting up the sky, and you also remembered stripping out of as many layers as you could, hoping for a little relief. Not to mention it had the added benefit of making Obi-Wan blush, which you now knew, wasn’t from the heat alone. 

He hesitated for a moment, and you felt him take a deep breath, as if unsure whether to say the next words. “I remember thinking how, despite the circumstances, I was the luckiest man in the Galaxy to be trapped there with someone as intriguing and beautiful as you.” 

His soft spoken words had your heart pounding. From any other mouth, you wouldn’t have hesitated one moment to believe they were a line, but . . . Obi-Wan didn’t have that ability. You leaned forward, your lips so close to his ear, you saw shivers erupt across his skin. “What are your thoughts now?” You asked him, desperate for his answer. 

“They haven’t changed,” Obi-Wan replied, this time without hesitation. “That’s why I’ve avoided -” 

You distracted him by placing a soft kiss against the spot beside his ear. 

He murmured your name, almost like a plea. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“Well, I’ve never been a fan of good ideas. Especially when it involves Jedi.” You teased, leaving even more kisses on his neck, all the way down to his shoulder. 

In a move that left you breathless, Obi-Wan spun around, his hands gripping your wrist that were in the air from moments ago when they had been placed on his back. “I’m not supposed to form attachments. You know that.” 

“So don’t,” You said. “We’ve done this already, why can’t we do it again? You didn’t form an attachment last time.” You, on the other hand, were a different story. 

He was shaking his head before you had even finished your sentence. “I was . . . I was naive then. I believed as long as you didn’t have any genuine feelings for me, I could avoid my own.” 

Obi-Wan thought you didn’t . . . How could anyone be with a man like Obi-Wan Kenobi, see the kindness in his eyes, feel the gentle reassurance of his touch, the softness of his lips and not develop feelings for him? “Obi-Wan, I’m afraid if the only reason you didn’t develop an attachment is because you thought I didn’t . . . We’re both doomed.” You whispered, your eyes drifting to those full lips for a moment. 

His head reached out, resting under your jaw and tilting your chin up until you looked him in the eyes. You could see the war raging there in those deep blues as he stared at you. You wished you could be a Jedi in that moment, seeing what was going on in his head. “So be it,” he said, and in a sudden movement, tugged you into his lap by your hand and leaned forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss. 

There was no hesitation in your response. You kissed him back with a year’s worth of tension, memories and dreams that had built up since the moment that the two of you had separated. Never did you think there would be something that would have such a profound impact on you as Obi-Wan Kenobi, but here you were, melting and longing for everything he could give you. 

His lips were as soft as you remembered, though the ferociousness in his kiss would make you think otherwise. He was as talented in his kiss as he was at sweet -talking the most stubborn of politicians, thorough and persistent with the perfect amount of pressure. When he pulled away, you were breathless, chasing his lips for more, but he shook his head. 

“I want to see you,” he whispered, his fingers tugging at the buttons of your loose shirt, his eyes begging for permission which you gave readily. 

Once again you were amazed by the composure he was able to keep while he rid you of the rest of your clothing. You were nothing less than a panting mess under his touch, and his fingers were steady as they could be until he made you stand up so you could remove your pants and underwear with them. You started to move back into his lap, but he stopped you with his hands on your hips. 

You felt heat rushing to your face as you watched him take you in, his eyes moving over every inch of your exposed body, almost as if he was searing the image of you into his memory. Finally, he leaned forward once more, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach. “As beautiful as I remembered.” He whispered against your skin as his lips traveled up your stomach and to your chest where he enclosed your nipple in his mouth dragging his tongue across it. 

Gasping out his name, your head fell back in pleasure because the talents of this man’s mouth could not be overstated. “Obi-Wan . . .” You gasped out, your hands finding his hair and giving it a sharp tug. 

He let out a grunt, and tugged you once more into his arms, this time standing up and depositing you onto his bed as if you were made of glass. You licked your lips as you watched him finish undressing, as gorgeous and . . . large as you remembered, if not more so. 

He didn’t make you wait, climbing on top of you with his lips resuming their previous position on your breast. Maker he was so . . . good. He had ruined you back then, and you had no doubts in your mind that he would do it again tonight. 

You couldn’t wait for it. 

Your whole body began to tingle as you felt one of Obi-Wan’s hands moving from where it had been on your other breast, down your stomach until it slipped inside of you. He looked up when he realized how wet and eager you were for him, sliding up your body once more until the two of you were face to face. “Maker, you’re incredible.” He said, and leaned down to capture your lips in another kiss. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you let him set a slow rhythm as he added another finger inside of you, your hips moving in time with him. You couldn’t control the whimpers you left against his lips as he teased you with his pace, never speeding up and leaving his fingers inside of you just long enough to want more. It was the most pleasurable torture that you had ever been through. “Obi, please,” you murmured when he pulled away, your fingers digging into the sheets surrounding you. 

“What do you want, darling?” He whispered, his nose nuzzling against your own, his fingers slipping all the way out of you. 

You groaned at the loss, your hips arching up to try and catch his fingers again, but he kept them right out of your reach. So you decided that two could play at that game. You reached down with one of your hands and took him in your grip, brushing him up and down your wet slit. “I need you inside of me,” You murmured, watching his face as his eyes closed at your manipulation. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt for months, Obi-Wan.” You told him, moving your hips once more so nothing but the tip slipped inside of you, causing him to let out a groan. “Do you remember how amazing it felt? Nothing’s ever felt as good since -” 

Your words ended in a loud moan as Obi-Wan took matters into his own hand once more and sheathed himself inside of you in one smooth motion. “Your fingers?” He murmured, pressing kisses down the side of your neck for a moment before whispering in your ear. “Or someone else?” 

“Either,” you answered without hesitation, letting out a gasp as he began grinding his hips against yours so he could hit that special spot inside of you. “Nothing’s as good as you.” You gasped, nothing but truth in your words as Obi-Wan met your gaze once more. 

“You’re going to get me in trouble.” He murmured, looking down at you with a tender look.

You returned his look with one of your own, your hands slipping back into his soft hair. “From what I know about you, Obi-Wan Kenobi . . . You love trouble.” 

He shook his head at you, that pretty smile on his face, and leaned down to capture your lips once more, silencing your moans somewhat as he began a much faster pace. It was almost relentless, the way that he pounded into you now, as if he had built up so much tension he had been waiting to release it. You weren’t going to complain because with every passing second you felt yourself get closer and closer to the edge, doing your very best to keep up with his pace, and by the tension in his arms and stomach, you could tell he was feeling the same. 

Unlike any other lover that you had, that cared about that of course, he did not have to ask if you were close. It was almost as if he could read your mind, and part of you wondered if he did a little when his finger began rubbing that pleasurable little spot, knowing how much pressure to add to make you topple off the edge into an oblivion of pleasure, shuddering and shaking while he silenced the moan of his name with his lips. 

His hips kept up their relentless pace, though they were much gentler now, chasing his own release. After a few more thrusts, you could feel him to start to pull away from you, but you stopped him. While it wasn’t smart, you wanted to feel him inside of you for as long as you could. You half expected him to deny your wishes, but he was as far gone as you were, and with one last snap of his hips, he buried himself inside of you, groaning against your lips as he let go inside of you. 

Satisfied. Completely and totally satisfied were the only words you could think to describe yourself as Obi-Wan caught his breath and began pressing kisses down your chin as he recovered. You let out a few noises of contentment as he did, enjoying the soft touches as he pulled out of you and headed to the refresher, returning with a wet cloth that he began to clean you up with. His touch was so gentle, as if you were so delicate, much different than a few minutes when he had been pounding into you with a pace you were sure would leave you sore tomorrow. 

Oh tomorrow. 

Obi-Wan tossed the cloth aside, sliding back into bed as you turned on your side and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. 

You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as his beard tickled your skin. He squeezed you tight for a moment at the sound before pressing a gentle kiss to your skin. “So . . . you haven’t lost your stamina after all.” You teased. 

This time it was his turn to laugh.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Chapter Four

The next day seemed to last forever. Ansel slept in, and Aelin took her own car to the office. Lunch was fun as usual, but she felt preoccupied. She hadn’t seen Rowan once without the others there, and she was honestly desperate for their date. It was rather embarrassing.

At 6:30, half an hour before Rowan was supposed to arrive and only a few minutes before Ansel left for the night shift at the bar, Aelin was freshly showered, hair dried, and picking out something to wear.

“Hey, Ansel. I know you need to leave soon, but red or blue?” she asked, holding up the two options. Aelin was still wearing a towel.

“Red, definitely,” she advised. “The color looks good on you, not to mention that dress is shorter.” Ansel winked.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Thanks, A.” She went back into her room and changed. Then she curled her hair and put on a light amount of makeup. She put on earrings to finish off the look and headed out into the kitchen. Yes, she’d cut it a little close, taking her time. But Aelin didn’t want to have enough time to get nervous. Ansel had left as soon as she helped Aelin pick a dress, and now there were a remaining five minutes to sit and stew.

Rowan has asked her on a date. You don’t ask someone you don’t like to go on a date with you. He liked her. Aelin was happy, but she also wasn’t going to be red and stuttering the whole time. She would play it cool if it was the last thing she did.

Just then, a light knocking sounded on the door. Holy gods. This was really happening.

Aelin stood, took a moment to straighten her velvety dress, then matched over to the door.

Rowan was wearing a suit, a nice one, too, not one of his work suits. He very nearly took her breath away.

He clearly felt the same; his eyes drifted across her face, taking in her appearance, then down. His gaze lingered on her partially exposed cleavage.

“See something you like?” Aelin asked sweetly, an innocent smile on her face.

His stare returned to her eyes. “Maybe I do.” The look of his smirk was purely predatory. It turned Aelin on more than anything.

“Careful, or we might not make it to dinner,” Aelin breathed.

“It’s a shame I haven’t eaten yet, or I might not want to,” was Rowan’s response. Then he offered her his arm. Aelin snorted, but placed her hand on it.

They took the elevator down in silence, but it was a companionable silence, not awkward at all.

In Rowan’s car, he said, “I haven’t heard a single insult from you yet. It’s got to be a new record.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Seeing as you’re taking me to dinner, I thought it best not to be impolite. If you have no objections, however, I could always come up with something.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Aelin chuckled. “Well, I am the queen of insults.

“How true. I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of, though.”

“Oh, it definitely is. It comes in handy as a life skill.”

They talked and laughed the whole ride. Aelin was new to not hating Rowan, and the change had come about very suddenly, but she found she enjoyed his company.

They pulled up outside a small, but nice, restaurant in the middle of the city. Aelin had been here a couple of times before; she liked the homey style and good food.

Rowan escorted her inside, his warm hand on her lower back. Aelin wasn’t pleased when he removed it, but she supposed they had to sit down.

Aelin ordered the chicken and Rowan got tuna with a salad. Aelin sighed, saying, “First Elide, now you. Why do all of my friends like eating a bowl full of leaves?”

“Oh, we’re friends now, are we?” Rowan asked, amusement showing.

Aelin blushed only a little. “Well, whatever we are, I mean it. How exactly is salad appealing unless it’s drenched in ranch dressing?”

“Haven’t you heard of this thing called being healthy?”

“Haven’t you heard of this thing called chocolate?” Aelin responded.

Rowan laughed. “I don’t eat sugar.”

Aelin gasped. “You’re joking!” When he didn’t say anything, Aelin scowled at him. “Why the hell not? Are you ill or something?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I just don’t like sugar very much.”

Aelin was having trouble wrapping her mind around it. “But... it’s sugar.”

“Why do you look personally offended?” Rowan questioned.

“You. Don’t. Like. Sugar. Sugar is my life. How do you not like it?”

He smiled. “It’s your life? You do realize how ridiculous you sound, right?”

Aelin frowned. Before she could enlighten him on sugar’s necessity to life, their food arrived.

They ate quietly for the first few moments. Aelin was still processing Rowan’s offense against sugar.

“What about a Hershey’s bar?” Aelin finally asked. “Everybody likes those.”

Rowan chuckled. “Not everyone.”

“Snickers?”

“No.”

They went on like this for quite some time. Aelin refused to change the subject before she knew the extent of Rowan’s crimes against humanity.

She finally relented and the conversation went in other directions. Aelin knew that Rowan was smart, but he was wittier than she had given him credit for, and he could be funny, too. She’d never have guessed the man had a sense of humor.

Of course, he also felt the need to belittle her as much as humanly possible. She did exactly the same thing. Years of insults couldn’t be immediately disregarded, after all. It was only natural.

By the time she’d finished her food, Aelin had called Rowan an intrusive bastard, a cheeky son of a bitch, and a callous, good-for-nothing swine. She’d also learned where he grew up, what he did in his free time, and what his favorite pizza toppings were. It was a working progress.

-

Back in his car, Aelin pursued earlier’s topic. “I don’t know if I can let this go, Rowan. This is bad.”

“Tell me this isn’t about the sugar thing again.” When she didn’t, he sighed. “I’ve said it before, you are a very dramatic person.”

“I can’t help but feel put off. Who doesn’t like sugar?”

“You are completely loony.”

“Excuse me? You need to work on your manners.”

He glanced over at her, then looked back at the road. “You didn’t seem to mind my lack of propriety Friday night.”

Aelin refused to let a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Nothing to say to that? No snarky comment?” Rowan annoyingly asked her.

“Can it,” was all Aelin could think to say, her menacing scowl deepening.

Rowan chuckled. “Seems I’m not the only one with manner problems.”

Aelin was not going to be provoked. If he thought it would be this easy, he had another thing coming. Though her normally sharp-witted tongue was having trouble making a good comeback, so she kept her mouth shut. This was due to the fact that Rowan had dragged her thoughts back to Friday night. Damn him.

Aelin could almost feel his self-satisfied smile, but she refused to spare him a glance.

They pulled up at her apartment building and she got out of his car. “We have work tomorrow,” Aelin said when Rowan got out of the car as well.

“Ansel’s out; surely it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly not to walk you to your door,” replied Rowan.

Aelin rolled her eyes and walked in and to the elevator, Rowan behind her. She half-expected him to make a move when the doors closed, but he just stood there, pleasantly smiling at her. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Aelin refused to make the first move.

The doors opened and Aelin stepped out first. She made sure to sway her hips a bit more than usual as she walked. When Aelin got her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door, Rowan still hadn’t done anything other than look charming. Asshole.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” Aelin smiled sweetly. She knew she’d done exactly what he wanted, but she didn’t care if she lost this round. Aelin wanted his mouth.

His smile widened. “Well, if you insist.” Rowan used his finger to tilt her face up to his. His lips met hers, but it was no gentle goodnight kiss. It was full of tongue and teeth and passion. Clearly Rowan had been craving this a bit more than he let on. His hand drifted down to massage Aelin’s breast through her dress. She let out a moan, her fingers running through his hair. Rowan’s other hand trailed down her back then gripped her ass.

After another minute of absolute heaven, Aelin pulled away. “See you tomorrow,” she said, smiling. Then she turned the doorknob, took out her keys, and stepped inside.

“Goodnight, Aelin,” Rowan managed, though she was pleased to see he was panting. She was too.

She gave another smile, this one more of a smirk, and closed the door. Aelin then dropped her purse on the counter and walked into the bathroom. She took off her earrings, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. Then she went to her room. Stripping down to her underwear, she pulled on a large t-shirt and slumped into bed.

It was only just past 9:00, but that didn’t matter. There was no chance Aelin would be getting to sleep anytime soon. She could still feel his hands, his tongue. She’d never felt so invigorated, never felt so needy. All thoughts went out of her head when she saw him, and she couldn’t help but think of him when they were apart. Fuck. Aelin had it bad.

[farplane]

DAY 24: ILLUSTRIOUS

(cw: mild sexual content at the end of the first part)

“Anything yet?” Seax asked from the bed.

Wulfric, sitting by the dwelling’s sole window, stifled a yawn. “No trace,” he reported. “How long did you say we had to watch for?”

“I didn’t say.” That was why Wulfric had asked; he was trying to be polite. “It’s not very complicated. We just wait until that fuck Véland shows up, we teach him a lesson, we leave. Did you have to have your boot daddy explain simple assignments to you over and over back in your soldiering days, or are you just like that with me?”

Wulfric ignored the sour taste in his mouth and huffed out a breath, stretching out his legs. He kept his eyes on the movement out in the Sprawl; his focus on the Undercity always rooted out any discomfort he might have with the past before it could take.

“Far be it from me to be callous towards your friend’s plight—Véland does sound like a prime cock—but isn’t it entirely possible that he just won’t show? I mean, she’ll want to sleep in her bed eventually, won’t she?”

“She won’t be sleeping in that bed if she’s afraid he might come to steal into it,” Seax replied with a chill to her tone much unlike the unaffected attitude she had towards most things. “I’ve got her somewhere safe; she’ll be sleeping fine there.” 

And maybe she understood something Wulfric didn’t intend to communicate when he glanced at her, because she shook her head, clicked her tongue, and added, “Number of favours I owe her, I’ll stay a moon in her place to knife a man who’s got her scared if that’s what it takes—are we clear on that? If you’re so bored with being warm and dry for a few hours, I can stand watch on my own and you can fuck off.”

“That’s not what I was saying at all, Seax,” Wulfric said, as reasonably as he could make it sound, once it was evident Seax had finished speaking; if he’d learned anything from her since coming to the Undercity, it was that you didn’t interrupt someone like her, even if it was with the intent of correcting a misunderstanding.

“No? What are you saying, then?”

“Just that there are more efficient ways of fucking up a guy when you know his name, his face, his haunts and his friends.”

Seax liked that; her voice edged back towards the unbothered. “Ever so proactive,” she said lightly. “Normally, I would agree with you, but this is different. He gets a knife in a gutter, and that can be the work of any rotten fuck he’s gotten on the wrong side of this week. But he gets it in her house, and that teaches the whole neighbourhood: no one fucks with Eda and gets away with it. Not on my watch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Wulfric said. 

Perhaps for the third time since he had sat down by the window, he pulled his dagger from the sheath at his thigh to busy his hands, running through the balance drills he’d learned from his blademaster as a youth. Easy as breathing.

Seax watched him flip the knife again and again, twirling it with the flat of the blade between his fingers, shifting his grip from forward to reverse. Then she said, “I know you’re eager to bloody your teeth, little wolf—” and in this she was wrong about him: he’d never been eager for blood, not really, just for anything to keep him moving— “but you’re going to drive me up the walls. Come here.”

He stilled the knife and pointed to the window, questioning.

“We don’t need to see him coming. If he shows, we’ll know.”

Wulfric supposed that was true. He shrugged, sheathing his dagger as he stood and crossed the short distance from the front of Eda’s home to her bed, which she separated from the rest of her place with a curtain Seax kept drawn back. At Seax’s invitation, he sat across the foot of the bed and kicked off his boots.

“She won’t mind us being in here?” he asked with some remnant of topsider modesty—or whatever it was Seax called it.

“I owe her a lot of favours, but still not enough that I’ll sleep on the fucking floor just to avoid her bed while I’ve got her good and cozy in my hideout.”

At that, Wulfric chuckled and stripped off his coat, boyishly satisfied when he managed to toss it over the back of Eda’s lone chair. Again Seax watched him, chin tucked in her palm, as he rolled up his sleeves. Without warning, she reached out to trace a finger over the thin band of black ink revealed just below his left elbow.

It wasn’t the first time an Ala Mhigan had touched his tattoos—he’d had enough lovers follow the lines on his skin to adjust from the feeling of wrongness to appreciating their touch, but Seax’s curiosity felt different. Sharp, like the rest of her; and he liked that about her, that rough loyalty that was conveniently devoid of affection. He simply hadn’t been prepared for it to come in contact with the still-raw Nhalmascan parts of him, even though she’d already bedded him more times than he could count.

“These are so strange,” she said, tilting her head as she studied the lines at the side of his neck. Her thumb brushed the pattern down the shell of his ear. “Are they from the glorious soldiering days? Battle marks?”

“What does it matter?”

Seax shrugged and dropped her hand to his lap. “Doesn’t,” she said, giving his thigh a squeeze. “Bloody touchy all the time.”

Unceremoniously, she shifted her weight to lean towards him and began to unlace his trousers. Wulfric raised his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Passing the time,” Seax said simply, slipping a hand inside his trousers. “Why, you got a better idea?”

He shook his head. “Not one,” he said; his mind had very quickly emptied. “Carry on.”

“Good boy,” Seax said. She drew closer so that her mouth was close to his ear, but refused any reciprocal touch. “Hands to yourself. Remember: you’re done when I say.”

Wulfric bit back a reflexive aye, sir. With her, it was always better to say nothing.

/

(Marco had stuffed more coal into the stove than was reasonable in anticipation for his return; Wulfric saw the thoughtfulness in the gesture the moment he stepped inside the cellar, but didn’t comment on it. He never knew how to say the simplest things, these days.

“How was it?” Marco asked, sitting up in bed. The movement made Montblanc groan at his feet and huddle closer, laying his head on Marco’s lap with no acknowledgement of Wulfric’s entrance.

“Bad,” Wulfric replied wearily. He gestured to his half-soaked clothing, but said little more, not wanting his foul mood to infect Marco when he was so close to sleep. As he yanked off his boots, he said, “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to be said about Bernt’s incompetence that can’t wait until morning.”

Rather than watch Wulfric hop around on one leg while he peeled off his wet trousers, Marco leaned over the bed to toss him a dry pair. “Here. These’ll keep you warm while yours dry.”

“Thanks. Fucking freezing.”

Wulfric removed his shirt next and laid out his clothes to dry; for a moment he lingered in front of the stove, shivering as the heat warmed his bare chest and arms. He shook out the wet tips of his hair, too, fingers catching on the beads threaded into his braids.

“Hey, Wulf. Can I ask you something?” Marco asked carefully. He scratched Montblanc’s head with an idleness to his hands, just for something to do that wasn’t staring at the black lines under Wulfric’s shoulder blades.

“Of course you can.”

“Your tattoos. They mean something, don’t they?”

At first, Wulfric meant only to nod and leave it at that, knowing Marco wouldn’t push; instead he sat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands together, his thumb running back and forth across the line running down the center of his middle finger.

“They’re… my fate,” he said with something of a shrug, because he could think of no better word. “In Nhalmasque, we have seers; we seek them out before adolescence to hear a pronouncement on our fate, and then they draw our life lines on our bodies. We preserve them throughout our teenage years, and when we come of age, those we didn’t let fade get tattooed. I kept all of mine.”

Marco nodded, serious. “What did the seer say they were?”

“She didn’t. It’s up to us to give them meaning; some of them I’m still not even certain of.”

Wulfric could feel Marco’s eyes on his back, and the question he was too polite to ask.

“These I know,” Wulfric said, crossing an arm over his chest to tap a finger over his shoulder. “Avis and Gawain. I trust them with my back.”

“I get it,” Marco said, and Wulfric knew that he did—knew that he was thinking of Ashley and Élodie. If he was Nhalmascan, they might be lines on his back, too.

He didn’t ask which ones Wulfric hadn’t figured out yet, and Wulfric didn’t wonder; one day, sooner than he expected, he would know the Undercity for one of the lines down his neck, like a blade at his jugular.)

[spacemilkies]

Hello there! Since you said I could send in requests here we go! I was wondering if you could do a a Cal fic where you were friends before Order 66 happened but after you two were separated due to being in hiding and Order 66. Then on one of his adventures Cal finds you and it’s like an adorable reunion for the two of you and then you two kiss and it’s kinda like “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time” thanks I hope this works!

pairing: cal kestis x reader

word count: 6k+ (phew)

summary: “ all that mattered was each other “

a/n: it feels good to finally complete a request after a good drought. i hope you enjoy! thanks for requesting c:

                                                      _______________________

It was really something to say that you were a Jedi. Not just to boast about the otherworldly powers and the connection it threaded you with the Force. For you, it was a feeling like no other. To have the ability to not only protect yourself but to bring some sort of salvation to the rest of the galaxy against the First Order. 

It was a grand feeling for someone as young as yourself at the time. 

It was also a short lived one. 

You were still at the Temple, fresh into your abilities as a Jedi when the Clone Wars began. After living years under the safety of known peace it was jarring to suddenly be thrust into the fierce uncertainty of war. The news began as distant stories, brief recalling of your brethren fighting the good fight with Clone allies. 

For the first time in your life since discovering your sensitivity with the Force as an infant the Temple suddenly felt like less of a covenant and more of a fortress. A wall of defense to protect the rising Jedi so they may soon bring hope to the failing war and draw it to a close. 

As one of the older students, it wouldn’t be long before you would soon find yourself on the opposite side of the barrier.

It was natural to feel fear, a necessary emotion to show that you were thoughtful about what the future held and how your impact could change it. It bred into cautiousness and prompted the call for consciousness so that one did not fall short of their expectations.

A commandment of the Jedi Code fortifies that mindset by reminding one that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge. To only move forward, a young Jedi must first know its surroundings so that they can make the right step forward. 

Still it didn’t make it any less jarring. 

“Master Udu told me I might find you up here.”

You stiffen briefly, your arms tightening around the legs drawn to your chest as your shaken out of your thoughts. For the longest it has just been you and the two moons above you on your place of meditation on the hillside. It goes without saying that you had not exactly relayed such information before departing but very few masters were unable to keep up with their apprentices. 

From here you can see into the villages below. There is a multitude of individuals milling about on the streets, carting their belongings too and fro. Hardly any of their movements are rushed, not one gait altered by the implications of terror. 

By now everyone is aware of the war and its progress, yet for this village its as if the very possibility of it affecting their lifestyle doesn’t even factor as a possibility. You know their proximity to the Temple and assurance of several Jedi backing it up has something to do with it. But those Jedi are you. 

You and all your classmates who have their own doubts. 

All these people. The galaxy. Are all relying on you. 

And that’s enough to ignite true horror. 

The footsteps behind you are slow and even as your current state of mind is vocalized and in need of caution. An impossibly warm body eventually settles beside you, long legs curling under them as they lean back. It’s unnecessary, but the sight of bright ginger hair accented by the moonlight gives you all the identification you need. 

“And you took that as an invitation?”

If he takes your words to be crude, he doesn’t show it. Instead he too takes the time to observe the bodies moving below. “I didn’t realize it was a private party.”

It was determined rather early after your initial meeting that Cal Kestis would become your best friend. As most codes were written into the stars, it was just another predestined thing for two likened souls. Attracted by your mutual ambitions and pinchent for trouble, most of your years were just naturally spent together. 

Some of it was sort of due to the fact that your masters had also been acquainted since the coming of time. 

For that reason, and many like it, you knew that he was no more offended by your words than you meant for them to be. To make a point, rather than be pushed away, he only leaned in closer. 

Your body rocked softly as his shoulder nudged yours upon impact. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you give up your resolve and turn to hide your face into his neck. 

Cal doesn’t speak just yet, instead bringing an arm around to draw you in closer. Yoo many minutes pass for you too keep count before you finally break the silence. 

Your fingers fumble in your lap, nimble limbs entangling with each other without purpose. “Are you scared?”

Cal lets out a puff of air that curls outward from the cold. His gaze has lifted to the sky now, distracted by something flicking across in the infinite darkness. He knows what you’re referring to but he makes the jest anyway. “ Of Madam N’lie catching us out after hours? I would be stupid not too.”

As expected, you don’t take the joke lightly and his hands dart to catch yours before you can retaliate. What you don’t expect is for him to hold onto them tighter when you try to separate from the grasp. 

You watch, enraptured as his larger calloused hands tease apart your fist to give his own fingers room to weave between the gaps of yours. He brings them both to his mouth, offering a few heated pants to warm them up.

“It’s okay to be scared. Hell, we all are regardless of what Deaton says.”

If you and Cal were mischievous, the absent mentioned party could only be described as callous. Fueled by his own pride, he was one of the more confident apprentices in his own abilities. He often spoke the loudest and provided the most opinions when it came to strategies. When the time came he would run headfirst into battle. 

As first, you found the notion too headstrong and ignorant. But in the face of fear, what wasn’t better to be blinded by boldness?

Especially if you were going to get killed anyway?

“It’s going to be tough, yeah. There is no doubt that the war will be at its peak when we arrive. People will die-” Your breath hitches and he responded swiftly with a kiss to your crown. “But you will live on. I promise you that.”

The way he’s twisting your fingers is awkward, but you realize what he’s attempting to manipulate and your pinky aids the struggle by wrapping around his. A childish gesture but a lifelong commitment. 

You couldn’t admit it, but in that moment, for the briefest of time, your heart felt like it might burst. And you were okay with it. Because if it did come a time for you to finally pass on. If it could be done at your best friend’s side, maybe it wouldn’t be so scary after all.

                                                     _______________________

You’re in pain. So much pain. But you’ll soon meet death if you don’t wisen up quick. Because you’re alone and you don’t know where your allies are- where he is- and you would not accept defeat until you were certain. 

The ground is scorched and scarred by the wrath of the lightsabers, many battles before your own. Now you’ve officially made your mark in the war. Not only by the burned line in the ground but equally by the bodies covering them. 

The rendezvous point isn’t far, but communications are down and you’re not sure if its even safe anymore. No one wanted to admit it, but they were losing. Terribly. In the many numbers you’d lost, too many faces were familiar and the ache was growing in your heart. 

Order 66 was the reckoning of the very Jedi populace and its unrelenting force would draw the conflict to a close just by sheer annihilation. 

The crunch of incoming infantry men fatigues you more than it drives your fire for survival, yet you ignite your lightsaber regardless. It’s a brutal fight. They all are. It’s an endless cycle as you parry, roll away and come back just a little bit weaker than before. 

You Are littered with contusions and lacerations deep enough to scar if you lived long enough for them to heal properly. You’re past the bring of exhaustion now, saber piecing the ground as you lean against its handle. Breathing in and out harshly, you inhale a mixture of earth and blood. A familiar taste to you now. 

By the time your ears catch up to the quickened pace heading your way, you’re too late to react in time. Your body nearly gives away as you stumble to your feet. 

“I’m so glad I found you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It sounds like Cal but you’re unable to differentiate between between now and the last time you spoke to him. It seems right that you would hear him now, so close to death. Your gaze is dull and heavy, unable to fully raise high enough to see his face- you think you see a wisp of red though. It’s enough you think. 

Who cares if the Force is playing tricks on you, as long as its him. 

“Hey, Cal … I think.” the cough that racks your body hurts. It hurts so bad as it rattles your lungs and threatens your bruised ribs that might even be broken. Your head spins as you feel your body being lifted and you know this is it. You’re finally ascending. 

“No, no no! Hey, stay with me okay.”

The Force really had a grasp on your memories of him. He sounds as determined as always, stubborn to a fault. You want him to know that you’re okay with this. Happy to at least be given this moment, even if its not real. 

You wish you had enough strength to touch his face. Would your hand connect or just fall through the vision?

You try anyway, pleased when it grants you this much. The hand finds the cut of his jaw, slick with sweat or blood you don’t know. It guides his face down- not as close as you want- but enough to catch the turn of his lips. You wish they would flip the other way. Grace you with one last smile. 

“I really hope … that the Force lets you hear this one day because I-”

There are more voices now, way too many of them as they swarm you from all angles. Your ‘Cal’ curses vulgarly and you wonder why he’s worried at all, it’s all over now. He draws away from your touch before you can protest and you hear the tell tale sound of a lightsaber activating.

This was it then.

But not before you-

He calls your name one last time, desperate with an emotion you weren’t aware that you had stored in your memories. 

Then it all went black. And you’re left to float in the abyss. 

‘I think I love you.’

                                                     _______________________

“Phew, I don’t know what we would do without those Jedi mind tricks of yours.”

Well for one, you’d all be dead. You certainly should have been all those years prior. Staying back briefly, you take the opportunity to catch your breath as your companions leaf through the newly revealed ruins. 

It had taken a lot of planning to make it here before the Order a feat that thad been evading most of the galaxy for quite some time. Even then, you wouldn’t be surprised to find the entire planet littered with their white uniforms by the time you made it out. 

It was a pretty good indicator that if you managed to tire yourself out by testing your connection with the Force, it was likely that you would be discovered by it. Fortunately, it seemed that these archives favored Jedi and your enemies would have to wait until you emerge or risk falling prey to the various traps and puzzles. You just hoped you would get a nice enough break before tackling that conflict. 

In order to survive, however, these conquest often required more on your part than most. When you first come across the band of scavengers and their rickety ship, it hadn’t been the most gracious meeting. That day was still hazy, some odd five years ago, but from your best knowledge and your recognition they had just found you. 

Badly patched up and barely breathing just short of the next village. The worrying part was that you were found on a planet far from the last one you remembered fighting on. From what they could tell you, the war was just about done by that point. Not that it surprised you. 

What hurt was knowing that the Jedi had all but vanished with it. 

For years you’d scoured the networks for any indication of your brethren surviving- of him still being alive. But all clues lead to the complete purge of the order. 

In the beginning of your time together, they had been doubtful of your heritage. Likely for the best as you were injured and in the midst of strangers. It was very apparent at the beginning that they had a habit of selling things off to the highest bidder. Your life alone would have made them richer than most of the galaxy. Still could. 

You suppose the truth eventually came at the trade of saving one of their lives by utilizing stasis to pause a beam in its tracks. It became a test of trust in that moment when their gratitude overcame their greed. 

That had really been it after that. 

Once a Jedi apprentice, you were reduced to a mere pirate that used the Force for cheap tricks to rob the departed. 

Wouldn’t your late master be proud. 

Still deflated by your exertion, you laughed humorlessly as the Twi'lek, Gran and human trio that made up the bandits of four pillaged through the remains. Previous trials had taught you to limit greed over time. 

While you couldn’t hide your presence, you were all fortunate enough to keep your faces hidden. The feat only possible by getting out before the enemy got in. And that timers was quickly counting down. 

“Oh, isn’t this just gorgeous?”

Ashi’ti, the ever eccentric Twi”lek, bounded over to you boasting an agreeably pretty piece of jewelry. You didn’t fight her as she draped the golden necklace over you. It would certainly earn you decent credits. 

Hosting a burst bag of his own, your Gran friend seems to share your eagerness to depart, “This terrain didn’t give us the opportunity to hide our ship as well as it should be. We need to get moving.”

Staring for longingly at all she couldn’t carry, you briefly wondered if you would have to drag Ash’ti out again. There is a familiar pout on her lips but to everyone relief she snatches a few more trinkets before shouldering her own bag. “Tsk. Always interrupting a woman’s shopping time, Blague. “

The Gran can only roll his eyes as she flounces by, not missing the opportunity to brush against him as she does so. He shares a look with you and you hope your smile doesn’t resemble a grimace too much. By the mirror you receive, it’s unlikely. 

“Alright, let’s move out. Hoods up, masks on.”

Taking one last unhindered breath, you obediently go through the motions of disguising your appearance. From a glance, they would be able to make out your differing species but as some of the more common ones in the galaxy it wasn’t much to go by if you haven’t given them too long to observe. 

Fortunately, the way out was easier than the way in and required significantly less of your abilities. The intricate puzzles were apparently more for those entering and rewards those who leave. 

Blague speaks up again as you near the exit.

“Keep confrontations to a minimum. I’d rather take the time for stealth than direct conflict.”

Blowing out an airy breath beside you, Ash’ti fails to refrain from commenting,” No bravery for the wicked.”

“Or the living,” you shoot back under your breath. She doesn’t make any indication of hearing you. 

Just before you reach the final chamber, Blague brings everyone to a halt and you all tense in anticipation. The shortcut had led you back to the entrance, one of the less hindered rooms. Anyone without utility of the Force could make it that far, certainly a few stormtroopers. 

Readying her blaster, Ash’ti lines herself with the nearest wall. Battle partners aside, when it came to protecting her cash-out, no one was fiercer,” Are they getting that much better at tracking?”

There was an odd look on Brague’s face as he stalled as if questioning his own intuition. His lips parted at the cusp of words but never managed to form them. 

You realize late that he didn’t need to. 

The feeling doused you like a dip in an icy river, paralyzing you by the veins. The pressure was indescribable despite how much you didn’t want to believe it. It probed at your consciousness, first demanding then hesitant as if it realized just what it was sensing. 

All signs led to what you’d been trained to know and yet.

“Alright, enough of this.”

“Ash’ti, no!”

The fire of her blaster just missed Brague’s intervention but did not miss its intended target. The return fire came from more than direction as various white suits made their appearance known, shouting commands over the increasing chaos as you all readied for battle. 

The lack of witnesses that you would leave behind meant that you could use your Force more freely but there was a sense of hesitation as you couldn’t quite shake off the second strand connecting another soul nearby. 

Had they lead them here? Or was it just another squad following your trail?

More importantly, were they alone?

The shout of your third companion came as a late warning as the earth above you crumbled from a stray blast. Your eyes went wide as a slab of rock broke from the ceiling. Thrusting your hand up you immediately called upon stasis only to be beaten to the command. 

All suspicions were confirmed, you found yourself dumbfounded under the impending fall as you stared up in wonder. After all this time, in all the moments you could reunited. There was finally a voice beneath the weight of the purge. 

A voice gruff with aggravation growled just before it collided with your body, throwing you both aside to safety. 

Groaning, your head spun from the impact. When you tried to roll over, you found yourself pinned still by your savior. 

Your savior. 

A Jedi. 

Kicking back as you in your attempt to crawl backwards, you boot collided none too kindly with their side. A cry of pain left them as they curled into their injury with grumbling complaint. 

From the opposite side of the rubble, your friends called out worriedly. The lack of gun fire meant that you were all safe for now but that wouldn’t last for very long. For any of you. 

Kriffing! An actual Jedi. 

Where did you even begin? What faction were they part of? Where did they serve? How had they escaped?

“That is not how you thank your savior.”

You were thankful for your mask as the figure slowly unraveled itself as the phantom of pain faded. It was a man, lean and lithe. But that wasn’t the defining feature that caught your breath in your throat. 

His hair mimicked a dim flame that you thought had extinguished years ago and yet. 

“Woah, woah!” 

Showing his hands first, his attention completely left you as it focused instead on your approaching teammate. Still primed for a fight, Ash’ti kept her blaster leveled and prepared. 

“And who the hell are you?’

You didn’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, hand already going for your mask to free your face. 

“Ash, no its fine. I know him.”

She hesitated, but she didn’t look convinced. “You just happen to know every Jedi that you come across?”

But her mitrustful nature couldn’t phase you as you were already enraptured by his wide eyed gaze as he turned to face you fully. The years had done him kindly but not without a few scars from the past. The most prominent stark against the bridge of his nose. 

It was still undeniably your best friend. 

Pure elation took hold of every note in your voice, “Cal!”

The distance was short, but you crossed it with the gusto of a preemptive sprint into battle. All your strength darted to your legs as you jumped, feet pushing off the ground as you launch yourself. And his arms were waiting to catch you with ease. 

Your heart hurt from the way it hammered against your chest. The sharp throb pounding in your ears as a smile split your face. He stumbled briefly, not having to counter your weight in years and sorely out of practice. 

He managed to counter well, however, as your legs clamped around his middle. Cal’s arm steadies you round the waist, only having to take a single step back to adjust for the impact. Your hands were already proding at his face, combing through his auburn locks and inspecting his scars and-

You wanted to laugh until you were delirious. For years all you wanted was a sign and you got this.

“That night- I thought I died. I thought you died. I-” Happiness had weakened the damn and the first trickle of wetness began to trail down your cheeks. His free hand came around, moving away the strands of hair already sticking to your face and cupping your cheek to tip it toward him. 

“I’ve missed you so much, starfly.”

The joy seeping through your bones could bring life to a garden. 

“Okay, what the hell?”

Jerking around, the two of you stared at the forgotten group with a mutual flush. 

Brague looked like he was ready for the day to be over, twenty four hours ago, no doubt not prepared to factor in a second Jedi to his plans. Ash’ti looked an interesting mix of distrustful and amused, turning her pretty skin an interesting shade. Lark, your ever quiet human companion, was already making his way toward the exit. 

Cal was reluctant, but eased his grip to allow you to slide to your feet. However, his arm remained around your waist. Still reeling from the shock, you continued to stare up at him with glee, feeling lighter than air for the first time in a very long time. 

Reaching for his hand, you curled your pinky securely with his own.

“Guys, this is my best friend.”

                                                     _______________________

To say things went smoothly was an understatement. Naturally everyone had questions, but the pressing matter of reinforcements weighed down everything else. Apparently, Cal had come to the tombs for a reason but seemed reluctant to continue on with his quest. The threat what ultimately got everyone to move. 

The conflict of transportation came next. 

Your own vessel was tucked away in the forestry while Cal insisted that his companions were waiting for him on the ledge. It was obvious that neither of you wanted to part but it eventually came down to who would pull whom. 

Brague ultimately made the decision for you, dragging off a sputtering Ash’ti while Cal dragged you toward his own ship. For now the two of you would part ways to confuse the enemy and meet back up when it was safe. 

Warm fingers touched your wrist before squeezing reassuringly. Less than half an hour later after an impromptu meeting with his skeleton crew, Cal had you holed up in a cabin for a proper reunion. One that didn’t come too easily. 

You eyes hesitated for a moment before flickering upward. You didn’t trust your words just yet but the silence was slowly building an ache within you. 

It did give you the chance to check out his room. He didn’t exactly style it to his taste, or at least the ones you remember from all those years ago. Cal did have a few knick knacks of his own, however. You wondered how long he’s been with this crew. Had he been scouring the galaxy all this time?

You swallowed all the greedy questions, not wanting to bombard him all at once when he certainly had his own. 

“I thought you were dead!” You blurted, a reoccurring theme between you. There was no reason for either of you to believe the other survived. You had less of a recount than he did, only remembering that last fated battle. 

Settled side by side on his bed, Cal still kept your hands securely in his own. His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles as he spoke. “I found you in the forest that night. You were so overrun and then more came. I tried to fight them off. We- got separated and when i managed to come back you were gone. “

His eyes searched yours pleadingly, hopeful that you could fill the gaps. But you honestly didn’t have much to offer. 

Your trapped hands only offered a stiff shrug,” I don’t really remember much after that. Somehow I got off that planet.” Over the years, you theorized about another Jedi or Clone who might have escaped with you only to ultimately get separated in the end. After awhile, you just gave up probing for the truth. You were alive but at the cost of everyone you loved; what was worth remembering?

His chin came to rest on the crown of your head, voice raw with emotion,” I was so convinced- I shouldn’t have given up.”

Immediately you protest, words muffled by his clothes as you pressed into them. “We didn’t know. But we survived. That’s what’s important.”

His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sliding underneath your jaw. Just when you think he’s going to tilt your face up it falls away to rest at the nape of your neck as his body shudders. 

You find yourself recalling your life up until now. Before you’d been content- not happy with your choices- but alive and well rested with your choices that kept you that way. Now that you spoke them aloud to your closest confidant, you almost felt ashamed. 

At the end of the day, you were a thief that stole and sold what you could to survivor. It didn’t make it any better just because you made a living off of it. 

But he didn’t judge you or make any indication of ill thoughts towards your lifestyle. In fact, he did the opposite, laughing sheepishly as he told you about his life as a rigger. Told tales of extra metals and ores he would steal off old ships and sell off market. A lot of his stories revolve around a single figure. Prauf, he called him. 

When you asked about him he stilled. 

“He died before I escaped trying to protect me.”

Startled, your face flicked between remorse and uncertainty, unsure of how to progress. The death seemed fresh on his mind and still painful in his voice. 

“I’m sorry.”

From this position, you couldn’t see his face, but he pulled you closer in response. 

He continued on about how he was rescued by Cere and the short span of adventures he explored before he met you. What it all summed up to was what had you drawing away in surprise.

“You want to revive the Order?”

The idea had never crossed your mind as a possibility. Why would it? Everyone had been obliterated. And now, not only were they outnumbered but they wanted to try it again. 

You found yourself rescinding any compliment you had for his new companions that had saved his life. They were selfishly making him repay a debt that would get him killed.

Before you could get to your feet, prepared to contact Brague he was drawing you back in. There was a new pull to his lips, a childish turn that aged from your appreciation days. 

“I know it sounds crazy but we have to do something.”

No. You didn’t have to do anything. You were lingering fragments of a broken organization. The cards had already fallen and now you would deal with them. Not pick them up and challenge the table again. 

“Cal, it’s not that easy. You can’t just-”

You hated that. The determination storming in his blue gaze. You were already too late. He’s made up his mind a long time ago and you could only accept his decision or cut ties…

As if you’d even consider the later. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried fruitlessly to fight the grin tugging at your lips when his lips pressed firmly into your cheek. 

“You don’t have to decide now. I’m just happy having you here.”

                                                     _______________________

You end up sort of just lingering on the Mantis. Partly your reluctance to leave Cal’s side and his own persistence to keep you there. For the time being, the expeditions have been suspended as Cere suspects that they should wait for Empire activity to settle. 

Apparently, your combined presence brought more attention than intended. As Cere planned to eventually introduce more Jedi as they were found to their cause this wasn’t unexpected but sooner than planned. 

She saw it more as a chance for everyone to get their bearings and an opportunity for the two of you to properly catch up. And that you did. 

In the meadows of Bogano, Cal excitedly introduced you to a vocal BD-1. His reliable companion that followed him into every skirmish and saved him more than once. You of course found the little robot utterly adorable. 

It continued to bounce around the two of you as you lounged in the grass. 

“Man, remember when Eli tried practicing his stasis by pranking Madam Lou. I’ll never forget her face when the bucket toppled over on her.” His laughter was infectious as he recalled the memories of the past. 

You were resting comfortably with your head on his chest as his fingers card idly through your hair. The way you resumed your relationship come at no surprise to you. Nothing was left unsaid between you, leaving no barrier to impede your reconnection. 

Reaching your hand up towards the sky, you grinned unabashedly when his immediately sought it out and tangled them together. There were few moments where you weren’t attached at some form, bringing up the embarrassing question from Greez as to watch your relationship was.

‘They’re my best friend.’

Which was true in every sense of the world and yet. 

Maybe if you hadn’t lived the life you had maybe things would have been different.

No.

That’s a lie. You know explicit in every lifetime you would fall in love with this same boy. The one whose mere existence was enough to teeter you off balance when he smiled in your direction. He was as charismatic and enigmatic now, all these years later; a systematic habit for you to relish in. Just when you thought it was all over and you would have to scrap from the leftovers of the world, he plowed right back into your life to break the darkest days into light. 

He was a hero to every arc of your story. And you just lo-

“Hey, you listening to me?”

The poke between your brows startles you. You lift your head and meet the brilliant blue somehow managing to smile at you from the seas. Still lost in your thoughts you wonder how easy it would be to just lean in. Would he reciprocate?

Remembering your place, you ask him to repeat himself with nervous laughter on your lips. But he doesn’t. Instead he continues to meet your gaze with a new intensity you can’t fathom. 

His lashes are longer than you remember or perhaps you’d just never been this close. Lips, soft and pink, you speculate what the pressure would feel like against yours. You try to swallow but there isn’t enough saliva on your tongue to justify the attempt leaving you to embarrassingly clear your throat.

“We should-”

“The night I lost you. When I had you clutched in my arms while I fought off the Empire. You told me something.”

Almost immediately you know where this is going. There is no doubt in your mind. But Cal is quicker, is arm preventing escape. 

“I carried it with me all this time. Even when I gave up on the idea-” he pauses to swallow down the memory. The regret. “It was just enough to live by to know that.”

You close your eyes because it’s the only way you can briefly escape. The entire mood has changed, the air thick with so much promise yet your scared. It’s Cal. You know him almost as much as you know yourself. Even as he brushes against the topic, you know where it will lead. 

At least for the moment.Nothing about the future is certain anymore. The realization of that apparent all those years ago. And still prior to that, he’d made a promise. And he remained here to this day to hold it true.

His hands seems to have made a new home at your cheek. It tends to reside there in the off chance it’s not clutching your hand or hanging from your pinky finger. There is a light pressure at the nape of your neck, urging you closer but not pushing. You close the distance upon your own inhibition. 

“Will you tell me again?” he whispers, lips inches from your own. 

“I love-”

He silences you with a kiss before you could complete his request, always too ambitious and headstrong. Pent up nervous energy on both parts keeps it chaste. There is a pretty flush against his cheeks as he realizes his error.

“Oh, sorry- you hadn’t-”

Rolling your eyes with a huff, you lean in for a more proper kiss this time around. Cal whines against you, pulling you tighter still. Oh to finally really kiss him. The feeling washes over how desperately you’d been waiting for this moment even before the downfall. While your relationship had always remained within friendly limits, the love had never lost its potency. It was fierce and bright, immersive in a way only the two of you could create. 

This was your first honest taste and you were already starved for it. Teats bubble from the corners of your eyes unbidden as you down in the affection. He spots them when he finally breaks the kiss. 

His gaze is knowing as a thumb swipes at your cheek. Those blue eyes look as though they wished they could communicate how right everything was with the world even despite the turmoil. 

Burying your face in his poncho, you wipe away the rest of the tears.

“I love you, Cal.”

His chest shakes with relief and rises with laughter as his hand runs along the length of your spine.

“I love you too.”

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 2/13)

Second part.

ONE THING

Dream froze, the door groaning against its hinges as it slowly creaked open. He took a step back, hastily placing his mask back on as the face of his husband peered up at him from within the shadows of the cabin. Fundy had his arms crossed in front of his chest, a frown etched upon his face as those eyes – the eyes that used to hold nothing but love for him – regarded him with disdain. Dream wondered what he looked like to Fundy right now. A shivering and desperate mess in the rain or did he look as he usually did?

“I’m only letting you in so you don’t get eaten alive.” Fundy tore his gaze away, heart beating painfully in his chest. He couldn’t look into those beady black eyes drawn upon Dream’s mask. His hand gripped the brass handle of the door, resisting the urge to slam it on his ex-husband’s face. An inkling of fear settled in him as he stepped back to let the man in. 

How did Dream even find him? He watched as Dream trudged into the room, clumps of wet sand and dirt scattering onto the polished wood floor.

“So… you’re saying that I won’t be eaten alive in the house?” Dream swallowed down the dry chuckle rising in his throat, the callous warmth of the house did nothing to assure himself of what he sought to accomplish. Fundy’s gaze turned towards the floor, irritation flashing across his face. Dream winced, feeling the bits of sands falling off his trousers. Well, this wasn’t the best way to start apologizing to your husband. Dream had until the storm ended, maybe this won’t end in disaster… He hoped it didn’t.

“Not by zombies.” There’s an underlying growl beneath Fundy’s words, an anger he thought he had quenched surfacing as he heard the liar speak. Fundy shook his head. No. No. No. Just happy thoughts. Drywaters Law #1: No Negative Shit. Fundy forced himself to look into those painted black eyes, the simple smile on that porcelain mask seemed eerie against the darkening land beyond the house. He gritted his teeth, a mockery of a smile. It would be rude of him to let the man die out in the rain, right?

“Please close the door behind you.” Fundy turned to walk further into the house, dragging his feet towards the living room. As much as he loathed his current and unexpected guest, he hoped he had a spare blanket to share. The man would catch a cold at this rate. Could Dream even get sick? Admins couldn’t  get sick right?

“Hi, Funds― and he’s walking away.” Dream sighed, catching a glimpse of Fundy’s tail disappearing into one of the rooms. He grasped the door handle, trying his best to gently close the door behind him, wincing as it let out a loud screech. 

This was good. They were together. In a house. With each other. Just the two of them. No one else. No L’Manburg. No Essempy. Just the two of them.  Dream just needed to get his husband to forgive him. Easier said than done. 

“He’s still mad, isn’t he? What can I do? Wait did I―”

“I can hear you!” Fundy scowled, gripping at the pitiful white sheet that he had found draped over the couch. It was a flimsy thing, thin and certainly not enough to block out the cold, but it would have to do. A squeak broke him from his annoyance, he looked up at the small bat hanging from the ceiling. 

“Sorry. Did we wake you? Don’t worry, he’ll be leaving soon… No. No. It’s okay. Just keep yourself warm up there, alright? Wouldn’t want to lose you too―”

“Who are you talking to?” Dream had made his way to the room, the low hush of a whisper drifting through the air. He stared pointedly at his husband who… was talking to the ceiling? Not that Dream was going to judge him. His husband had… his own strange ways to cope and he didn’t want to get kicked out of the house by commenting about this one. Fundy spun on his heel, the hint of a smile on his face, disappearing as soon as their gazes met.

“I’ll ask the questions, what are you doing here?” Fundy tossed the sheet at Dream – who caught it without fail – walking past the man to rummage through one of the few chests he had in his home. Niki insisted he place a fireplace in the cabin, oh he didn’t expect he’d be using it under such circumstances. His fingers curled around a familiar object, flashes of burning cloth racing through his mind as he pulled out his old trusty flint and steel. His ears began to twitch. No. No. No. No bad thoughts. Just good thoughts, Fundy.

“Fundy, you know why― Is that a bat?!” Dream looked up. The blanket in his hand nearly falling to the ground as he sawthe black blur on the ceiling.

“Dream!” Fundy’s head snapped towards his ex-husband, his teeth clenched together so tightly that he feared they might crack. He was tired. No. He was exhausted. New life? HA! Fundy should’ve known that the peace wouldn’t last forever. Not when he got married to the literal god of― “Dream, you… Why are you here? I thought leaving the ring would have been a good enough hint for you. Did you… Did you follow me here? Why?”

“I didn’t follow you here, Fundy… I was worried. You can’t just leave without a note. How was I to know where you were? It’s a bad time, Fundy. The entire server is after my head. They would do anything to get to me, including―” Dream’s attention turned towards the flint and steel. He tensed. Fundy and fire… wasn’t a good combination. He moved closer, the fox hybrid shuffling to move away from him. 

Dream paused, “Can you… put the flint and steel down? It’s very intimidating.”

“Wha― You know― You don’t― Like, do you actually know what you did – what you did to me – or have you lied to yourself so much you’ve developed selective memory?” Fundy shook his head, the word ‘memory’ a bitter taste against his tongue. He leaned against the cobblestone wall of the fireplace. The fire he had meant to start forgotten in favor of his ex-husband. He just wanted to get this over with. 

“Dream… I already have an amnesiac dad. I don’t need another angst fest in my life, okay?” Fundy hid his face in his hands, his ears erratically twitching on top of his head.  

“Fundy… I came here for you. Whatever I did… I can make up for it, I swear! Just… come home… please...” Dream wondered if Fundy could hear him, his voice barely a whisper. The fox hybrid’s ears were twitching so that had to mean something, right? 

“For me?”

“For you?!”

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant!” Okay that was the wrong thing to say, oh no. Dream turned his attention back towards the ceiling, wringing his hands together as he thought of what he could say that wouldn’t get him tossed out the already broken windows. Small brown eyes met his gaze, a small squeak echoing through the room. A bat. A BAT! That was a good conversation to have, right? Fundy liked to talk about his pets… He loved to talk about his pets… 

“That’s… that’s a really cute bat.” Dream pursed his lips.

“Correct. Yes, they're the best bat in the world.” Fundy rolled his eyes, not missing the way Dream quickly changed the conversation. Coward.

“Where did they come from?” Dream held his breath, not missing the way Fundy spoke to him with such malice and hate. He messed up.

“I…” Fundy sighed, running his recently trimmed nails across the skin of his arms. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not with his ex-husband of all people. 

“Their name is Batry and they’re here because I found them in a cave and invited them back here. They love flowers and have incredible comedic timing, and kind of my only friend right now, which I’m sure sounds insane to you but― you know what? I don’t have to explain things seeing as how you refuse to explain even the most basic things to me, like… did you even care for me?”

“Fundy, of course I―”

“You only care about the discs, right? What was that about, Dream? The wars were over! But you―”

“Okay, wait―”

“Do you even actually need food or sleep to function? Are you some sort of immortal god? Because I―”

“I wasn’t judging! They seem like a really chill bat.” Dream’s voice wavered, his breath quickening at the sudden confrontation. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.

“Well, they are very chill!” Fundy screeched, his hair bristling in absolute anger. Anger at what? Fundy… Fundy didn’t know… He didn’t want to fight. Not here in his newly made country of happiness, anyway.

“If they’re helping you get through this stressful time Fundy, I’m all for it. Really! I only came out here to ask you to do one thing.” Dream took his chance. He edged closer, hesitated before he placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder.

He held his breath as he waited for the fox hybrid’s answer. Fundy’s gaze turned towards the hand on his shoulder, “…one thing.”

“Yeah… one thing―” A loud crash rang throughout the house, the floor shaking beneath their feet at the violent intrusion. Dream quickly reacted, his hand moving to grip the back of Fundy’s jacket, pulling him closer as he summoned his sword to his hand. Fundy’s hat pressed onto the blade’s hilt. 

“What was that?” Dream glared at the hall, expecting a zombie to emerge from the corner.

“That would be the sound of the shelf I just built, buckling under the weight of a hundred books.” No. Fundy did not appreciate being in his ex-husband’s protective embrace. Shut up.

“Oh.” Dream coughed, backing off immediately. His sword faded back into his inventory, and he placed Fundy’s hat on the sofa before he could accidentally rip it. Fundy would never forgive him if he destroyed it. Though Fundy did leave it out in the rain, what was up with that?

“You know this place…” Sucks. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but Fundy refused to say it. Why would he give his ex-husband the impression that he was clearly unhappy? The sharp crack of glass followed soon after, 

“And there goes my collection of Ghostbur’s blue.” Fundy sighed, his tail curling around his waist as if he was trying to console himself.

“I… I know I’m not supposed to be asking questions, but… your entire family is here in the Essempy… Couldn’t they have helped you do all this work on the house?” The house was a mess, and Dream didn’t mean that lightly. He glanced at the misshapen windows, the floor made from different pieces of wood…

“They don’t know.” Dream’s head snapped to look at Fundy.

“They don’t know you’re moving?” Fundy winced at the accusatory tone. Did it matter if he had told them? No one would have noticed anyway…

“Moving is such a strong word…” Fundy flailed his hands into the air, his own nervousness betraying him. The smell of smoke filled the air, Dream freezing in place as he looked at something behind Fundy. 

“Do you… Do you smell smoke?” Fundy sniffed at the air, wondering if he had accidentally left something on in the kitchen.

“Fundy.” Dream reached out once more, turning the fox hybrid to look at the small fire his flint and steel had caused. He nearly screamed when Fundy had flailed his hands, the flint and steel flying from his loose grip. 

“Ah, yeah… that’s fire. Just stay calm. Just a small little fire, can you hand me some water?” Dream didn’t look up from the growing flames, holding out a hand towards Fundy.

“Shit― Uh, sure.”

He felt the heat before he saw it. He looked down at the bucket of lava on his hands, frustration bubbling to the surface of his mind. He placed the bucket down, summoning his own bucket of water. The fire died just as quickly as it had been born. 

“Did you just hand me a bucket of lava?”

“What? Oh! Dammit I thought that was something else.” Fundy gripped the edges of his hair, groaning at the stupid mistake that might have destroyed everything he’s worked for. 

“Well, as you can see, you’re timing, as always, is impeccable. I’ve now broken the first law of Drywaters, thanks Dream.” Fundy threw his hands in the air, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.

Dream tried to keep his composure, knowing that a sliver of his own annoyance would lead to nothing but heartbreak. He needed to fix this. Now. 

“One thing, Fundy. That’s all I’m asking for.” Dream tried to reach for Fundy’s hand, stopping as he realized he couldn’t.

“One thing…” Fundy sighed, falling onto the sofa, his head hidden in his hands. He couldn’t look at his ex-husband. Not if he wanted to keep his own resolve.

“I came out here for one thing… And that little bitty one thing…” He had tried so hard. He had stayed for a man who he thought loved him. He was wrong.

“��was to forget about you.” Fundy held back the sob in his throat. His fingers clung to the frayed edge of the couch, a momentary distraction from what was currently happening.

“But I guess I've learned something, that there's never really one thing.” The fox hybrid flung his head back, exhaustion taking its claim as he remembered… his tasks.

“'Cause pretty quickly one thing, evolves into two, or three, or more.” He didn’t realize running away from his responsibilities would mean… more responsibilities. This was unfair.

“For example… See the light in the hallway? It is always flickering. Ever since I installed it, it is always flickering.” Dream frowned. That wasn’t right. His star was an excellent inventor. There’s… there’s no way that one light bulb would be his great downfall.

Fundy couldn’t make anything… he didn’t have the motivation to.

“After three days here, it was unbearable. My list grew: Two, fix the light bulb, and one, forget about you…” Three days… Dream had only realized today… was that how long Fundy’ had been gone?

It had been a week since he left. Fundy would visit the house they shared in that week… hoping for a sign that he should stay.

“Went back home, stole a bulb. One of those new LEDs. Brought it home, put it in, but the redstones weren't connecting. Suddenly, they went on the fritz…” No… His star was a master with redstone…

Fundy couldn’t think straight in the past few days… not enough to make a simple light source light up.

“My list grew: Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you…” Fundy wasn’t done. The long list flashing in his mind as he recalled every bad thing that had gone wrong.

“So, I went to the attic and to my utmost delight, there it is, red vines, killing me slowly each night... and I feel it's my duty to remove it…” Wait… red vines? Dream didn’t like the sound of that…

Fundy couldn't bring himself to take them down… he couldn't take them down.

“My list grew: Four, kill the red vines. Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you―”

“Yeah, but my one thing is really just…” Did… Dream really just interrupt him?

“I'm not done.” Fundy raised a hand, gesturing out towards the hallway. 

“See the tarp in the hallway? That’s meant to be a gallery wall, lots of pictures, super classy. Glad I had to make the call, but in scouring for vines, I had to take the place apart…” Fundy had wanted to place his most cherished memories up on that wall, the pictures he had taken with Ranboo… the one with Niki… maybe even the one with his father. Of course, the world really told him ‘no’.

“Because sometimes to solve a problem…” Their eyes met, a sickening suggestion hanging in the air as Fundy spoke those words. 

“You follow it back to the start.”

Dream froze at the faint sound of creaking wood.

“Oh. Who's that?” Dream reached for the sword in his inventory.

“No one. It just does that when it rains!” Fundy hoped the house didn’t end up flooded by the end of the day. 

“When I tried to rebuild the wall that I'd taken down, I discovered two holes burrowed right into the ground, and I didn't have the heart to kill 'em… So my list grew― But then, the cement that I found to fill in the gaping holes wasn't good, it didn't stick. Apparently, cement can get old?! In trying to fix one thing, I made everything worse…” Fundy screamed into a pillow, his rambling getting longer with each second.

“My list grew: Nine, steal new cement. Eight, take care of this bat I found. Seven, clean out the pipes for the bathroom and the kitchen. Six, rebuild the wall. Five, keep out the pests. Four, kill the red vines. Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you…”

Nine. Nine fucking things. And he knows – HE KNOWS – it’s going to get longer. FUCK HE SHOULD ADD A HUNDRED MORE TO THE LIST NOW THAT DREAM WAS HERE―

“I think it's lovely… to see you fix up this new house, because you want it to be… nice for your own country…” Dream didn’t care that Fundy was making his own country. He just wished he had been told. He knelt down in front of the couch, reaching out to place his hand on top of the hybrid’s. He was happy for his husband. He was! But not if it meant losing his sanity for it! 

“But I think maybe you're obsessing… over things you can control, hoping to control your feelings for…” 

“What?!” Fundy withdrew his hand, his ears pressed against the top of his head as he stood up from the coach. The nerve― The actual nerve― He began to pace the length of the room, sparing a single glance towards the man who hadn’t moved a single inch from the couch. Feelings? Feelings?! Oh, Fundy had feelings alright. Just not those types of feelings. No, what he wanted right now was to burn something. But not his house because he worked so hard on this stupid cabin. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“So… you came here, looking for one thing… and you're saying that one thing… was to forget about me?” It struck a chord in his heart. Dream picked at the frayed seams of the couch. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Fundy’s eyes. 

How did he mess this up so badly? Their differing politics were supposed to stay out of their personal life… It never got in the way before… Even when they met on the battlefield. 

“Well, all I am asking is for you to do the first thing, which could also be the last thing that you do with me.”

“These things needed to get done– okay, okay…” Fundy wrapped his arms around himself, tail curling onto around his right leg. He had so much to do, and with Niki and Ranboo off doing their own thing, he could at least try and― He froze, darting across the other side of the room as soon as he noticed Dream standing up to move towards him. Dream tried to follow him, but Fundy didn’t want to be near him right now. He held up a hand. 

“Just… just… just stop moving towards me. Just stay on your side of the room―”

“Okay? So, we can talk this out?” Dream held onto that. He could salvage this, couldn’t he? They could talk this out, make up, and Fundy could forget about the whole… running away thing he’s currently got going on. They’d go back to the way it was. Though what that was exactly, Dream couldn’t really say.

“Well, listen… well, listen… If my friends are gonna be so nice to have me out here and respect my need to be alone during this really insane, crazy, impossible time of my life…” And by friends, Fundy meant Niki and Ranboo. He doubted anyone else would have noticed his absence. No one would notice if he just up and left, right? Well, New L’Manburg certainly wouldn’t have lost anything of value. 

“The absolute least I can do is, you know, just… just go around and… and… and… and… and… destroy this house.”

Fundy was ripped away from his thoughts, a hand grazing the top of his shoulder. When did Dream get so close? Dream frowned, the expression hidden beneath the mask. Fundy’s eyes had glazed over, and Dream knew what that meant. In any other circumstance, he would have pulled the fox hybrid into his arms… but he couldn’t do that now. 

“After tonight, you'll never hear from me again. If that's what you want. All we need to fix our marriage is one decent conversation. I'm asking for one chance.”

Fundy’s piercing brown eyes glared up at that porcelain mask, he should say no. He really should. But he never was the type to say no to someone he loved, was he? 

“We'll do this one thing…”

“It is the first thing…” Dream needed to get this right.

“We're doing together…” Fundy wanted it to be over.

“Since…”

“You left without saying a word.” Dream never meant for it to go that far.

“I found out you are not who I thought you were.” Fundy never thought he’d ever feel this betrayed.

“We'll do this one thing…” Fundy wished it would be just this one.

“It could be the last thing.” Dream hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

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

prev / next

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 9/9

Here it is! The end of this journey! This has always been a gift for @teamhook​, and my dear, I hope this ending brightens your day after all you have been through! I always knew this was where it would lead, with these exact bits of dialogue inspired by the song by Gabrielle Aplin that you shared with me. I even incorporated some lines from the song into the closing scene for you. Sending you lots of love, my friend!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook​​​ on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​​​ @kmomof4​​​@jennjenn615​​​ @kday426​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​@whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @distant-rose​​@shireness-says​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​ @superchocovian​​​ @nikkiemms​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​  @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​

It was awkwardly silent in the elevator. Honestly, it had been awkwardly silent the majority of the time between her and Walsh ever since she got home. Yet it seemed to hang even heavier between them since the doctor’s appointment earlier.

The elevator stopped at her floor, and the ding when the doors opened only punctuated the silence. Emma dug in her purse for her keys, and wished like every other time Walsh rode up with her how to politely send him away. He hadn’t pushed her for anything physical - mostly. He just whined like an oversized baby about it, constantly asking her when things would get back to normal.

In that sense, today’s appointment was almost a relief.

“Well, thanks for walking me up,” Emma told him as she grasped her keys.

Walsh gave her a smile that he must have thought was charming. It wasn’t.

“Come on now, Emma, you can’t let your fiance in for a few minutes?”

She pressed her hand firmly to his chest as he leaned in. “You’re not my fiance.”

“Of course I am. You just don’t remember.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, first of all, you heard the doctor today. Chances are, I won’t ever remember.”

“Chances is the word. You heard him, there’s always a chance. Especially if I jog your memory.”

He went to put his arms around her, and for the first time, Emma had to shove him off. It sent her heart beating erratically, and not in a pleasant way. It also sent anger flaring through her veins.

“God, do you even listen to me?” she shouted. She had tried so hard since she got back to New York to cooperate, hoping that following the lead of Walsh and Regina would bring her memories rushing back. Now she was sick of it.

“Actually I do,” Walsh snapped, “which is why I know you aren’t even trying to remember.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose. And no, you don’t listen, because I wasn’t finished. Second, I don’t have a ring, Walsh.” Emma waved her hand in front of him.

“People don’t need a ring to get engaged.”

“I also listened to your message,” she bit out. “You proposed, but I never accepted. You may not need a ring, genius, but the girl has to actually say yes.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Well, I am now.”

Walsh blinked. “Emma, seriously, this isn’t you.”

“No Walsh, it is me! Maybe this whole experience has changed me, maybe I’ll never fully remember who I was before, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always been hesitant to marry you.” Emma pressed her fist, still clutching her keys, to her chest. “I know you and Regina keep treating me like a wounded puppy, but I do remember some things clearly. I was getting away to Maine because I was stressed and confused. I was unsure of so many things, including us.”

Walsh’s face fell, as if he were finally beginning to understand. “But I thought we were so good together.”

Emma was able to smile at him. She stepped closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “You were comfortable - safe. Being with you didn’t risk my heart because my feelings were on the surface. Your proposal brought all of that into focus.”

“So what you’re saying is, you were always going to say no.”

Emma nodded, truly feeling sorry for Walsh for the first time. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember our first date or how we met, but I do remember that.”

Walsh nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. He gave her a platonic hug, and Emma accepted it. Then he walked away from her, and when the elevator doors closed behind him, Emma sagged with relief against her door.

The phone in her jacket pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to see text messages from her bandmates pop up one after another.

How did the appointment go? - Elsa

Did the doctor have good news? Are you getting your memories back? I’m dying with worry here! - Anna

Calling to check on you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but have you dumped Walsh yet? - Ruby

I wanna hear more about this hot vet you were snowed in with. And don’t tell me he wasn’t hot, I can read between the lines. - Ruby

Emma smiled as she scrolled through the messages. It was strange the way a brain injury worked. The moment she walked through her front door and saw her three best friends waiting for her, memories had flooded her. She didn’t remember anything but confusing feelings where Walsh was concerned, she couldn’t remember this supposed solo career Regina kept going on about, but she did remember these three amazing women. She couldn’t remember performing, but memories had returned of the times they spent together both on the road and before they hit it big. She also remembered the words to every single one of their songs. The doctor had explained to her that the brain was a complex organ. His theory was that she had retained her emotional memories, but not the details of her life.

Bizarre didn’t begin to cover it.

Emma locked the door behind her, toed off her shoes, and dropped her keys in the catch all by the door. She collapsed onto a couch that was too hard in a room that was too cold. The view of the city skyline outside her window seemed foreign. With a sigh, she moved to her bedroom, shooting off texts to her friends as she went. She slipped into a pair of comfortable pajamas, collapsed onto her bed, and grabbed the tv remote.

This was apparently her life, and she simply had no idea what to do with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Checkmate!” Liam crowed with satisfaction, but his face fell when he looked across the chess board to find Killian staring absently at the chess pieces. “Little brother? I beat you. Again.”

Killian sighed and knocked over some of the pieces in frustration. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

Liam frowned. “This is still about Wendy, isn’t it?”

“Emma,” Killian corrected him as he ran a hand wearily down his face, “her name is actually Emma. Emma Swan.” His hand dropped to his lap, and he studied his brother warily. “And please spare me the I told you so.”

Liam leaned back, both hands lifted in the air in surrender. “I’m not going to say that, trust me. This is a situation where I hate being right.”

Killian arched a brow. “My brother? Hates being right? Who are you and what have you done to my real brother?”

“Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I liked her. I liked how happy you were when she was here. If the situation had been different -”

Killian cut him off. “But it wasn’t. She has a life, a career, a fiance somewhere else. God, I was such a fool.”

“No, you weren’t. You were generous in offering your home to her. I was wrong, Killian. You did the right thing. I can’t believe I was so callous towards her.”

Killian drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded Liam. “You never seem to realize what an ass you’re being to the women in my life until it’s too late.”

Liam leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fisted hands. “With Milah, you’re right. When you adopted Henry, I still gave her hell. I worried a child was just another novelty to her. But then she was such a wonderful mother, then you got Alice, and . . . .”

Liam trailed off with a long sigh. Killian’s brow furrowed in shock.

“I thought you didn’t soften towards her until she got sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Try to mend things with her?”

“You know how bloody stubborn I am. I’m sorry, Killian, I would do it all differently if I had the chance.”

“I know.” Killian could never stay angry at his brother for long. He loved him too much.

“Besides, who says it's too late with Wendy - I mean Emma. She may be missing you just as much as you’re missing her.”

Killian absentmindedly picked up a pawn and twirled it between his fingers. “Doubtful. She’s a bloody rock star, for God’s sake.”

“The kids miss her too, don’t they?” “Aye.”

“She said she’d keep in touch.”

“People always say that. Then they never do.”

“Give her time. None of this can be easy.”

Killian was about to counter that Emma had no reason to think of them now that her memories had most likely returned, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He gave his brother a confused look. It was late, and the kids were already asleep. Who could possibly be knocking? He hurried to the door, looked through the keyhole, then swore under his breath to find the view blocked by greenery. Alice had made a wreath for the door, and he couldn’t see a damn thing past her handiwork. He wrenched the door open, expecting it to be a local farmer with a livestock emergency.

It wasn’t a farmer.

“Emma,” he breathed in awe.

She smiled, and it was like the sun came out.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t

recognize you. Let’s just say it’s mostly Radio Disney around here. And something about K-Pop which I don’t really -”

“I was never engaged,” Emma blurted out.

“Oh?”

Emma twisted her hands nervously and shrugged. “He proposed, but I never accepted.” She trailed off, her gaze darting to her feet. “It felt important for you to know that.”

“There’s no need to explain,” he told her gently. “I’m just glad you’re getting your memories back.”

“I’m not,” she said, her gaze flying back to lock on his.

“What do you mean?”

She bit on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t have my memories back. I remember bits and pieces, feelings mostly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s something I just gotta say, alright?”

Killian nodded. He’d been sort of speechless anyway since he opened the door.

She licked her lips nervously before plunging in. “The doctors say I might never get my memories back. Not all of them, anyway. But I’m okay with that because what little I remember either isn’t that great or it’s fantastic.” She winced as she closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m still listening.”

She returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own. “Right. So, I remember that I was a foster kid. I must have been since I was a baby because that’s all I remember. I don’t remember any of the places I lived or who I lived with. All I remember is that I never had a home.”

His heart broke for her and the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't interrupt.

“I remember I ran away all the time. I just figured that when you really have a home, when you leave, you just miss it. So my whole childhood, I just kept running waiting to feel that, but I never did. Then I found my band. And I got to keep running, on the road you know? But it was okay because my family was running with me. I think that’s why they’re the only people I remember. Except -”

She paused, and a look of fear flashed over her face. He took a step closer and took her hand. “Except?” he prompted.

“Except you. And the kids.” She winced again, shaking her head and laughing. “Not that I wouldn’t remember you, I mean I met you after. What I’m trying to say is . . . I miss you. When I left here, I missed it all so much. My band - the people in it - were home, but that was ending. And then I met you - and Alice and Henry. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my life got a reset that day you found me. I want to start time, right here. With you.”

Killian searched her face, scarcely daring to believe this was real. He reached up with a shaking hand and traced her jaw with his finger.

“What about your career?” he asked softly. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage of her while she was in a vulnerable place.

She smiled at him as a single tear slipped down her face. “I never wanted that career. I loved the band - the people, I mean. But not the performing or the limelight. I just want to play and write songs on my guitar. I can do that anywhere.”

He let hope expand his heart for the first time. He cupped her face with both hands, catching her tear with his thumb.

“Stay with me?” he asked her.

Emma’s eyes crinkled at the force of her smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Killian bent slowly to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him more access. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair as his tongue lazily explored her mouth. Emma pulled back and smiled with such blinding happiness, he could hardly take it in. Then her eyes fluttered closed, and she captured his lips again. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He never wanted to let her go.

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something. Be together at the start of time.

Rolling Stone Magazine - Two Years Later:

. . . The Grammy’s this year brought one big surprise: Emma Swan Jones, former member of the female rock band Wendy Sewed it On, took home the Song of the Year award for penning Ruby Lucas’s number one smash hit “The Song in Your Heart.” The romantic power ballad was a slight departure for the normally angst-filled alternative rock Swan-Jones was known for when she was part of Wendy Sewed it On. Yet her new hyphenated last name along with her acceptance speech may give her fans a hint for the change. In her speech, she thanked “my true love, my husband Killian. Words can’t say enough how much you mean to me or how you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have this award without you, babe.” Judging by the baby bump she was proudly showing off beneath her Elie Saab couture gown on the red carpet, Emma Swan Jones is very happy with her man which may mean more romantic ballads from her in the future . . .

[nightwingvixen23]

SCORCHED

A little JayRoman fic that i just  now whipped up while bored as fuck lol

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"I'm still wonderin' just where in the fuck you got those god damned things from.” Roy's words are knifelike, however at the slice of it’s blow to my gut, out rushed butterflies, contrary to blood.

Fuck him. Pinpointing just what’s not vital at this very moment.

"Always had'em," I insist, housing the twin mamba pistols, gleaming in decadence, back into their holsters at each thigh. . .. . . And yeah; they are in fact new. And no; I didn't buy them. 

Yes, i’m a fuckin' liar, sue me; I’ve been called worse. On the other hand, the actual truth reaches a hand far deeper into my organs then anyone needs to be groping there greedy fingers within, sloppy in movement, scuttling after answers that I'm beyond sure the owner of such a prying hand will come to anguish.

"Nah," Roy presses, slinging himself across a couch here in the drearily lighted safe house that we've together taken up refuge in somewhere North East of Gotham City, " I know all’ov your artillery dude. That shit's new. And looks hella posh. Did I miss yer birthday or somethin' ? " He cracks open a beer, guzzling it down while those jade eyes pierce through me from above the can. God damn him. I carelessly knock into his bow and arrows causing him to sputter his alcohol and run to their salvation, whining about how I could be 'such a fucking bully' however it gets him to shut the fuck up on the former topic under fire; and that was my only intention.

Nobody. 

Nobody needs to know about the gifts. 

What started out as a game has me now roped in pretty heavily, but, I’m a damn sucker for fucking with Roman's upper story, what can I say ?? I can be a mother fucking flirt when I wanna be (while not quite as sophisticated in the art as Dick Grayson himself) I've picked up a few logistics on how to score a man's desires...I mean,at least: the murderous type; how to score the desires of a man who wants to lacerate my spine as well as fuck me into the nearest floorboard. And it was all just a game. I swear it was. The thorns in my side enjoyed toying with the temper of a well-bred villain who's tasted blood soaked daggers, and known the Godlike fever of electing a fatal gasp from an parched lung. I liked the twisted smirk of his face from under that obscene leather mask. I liked the tangled intrigue of his body language. I relished how I held him in the palm of my hand; just another man eating whatever slop from the filthy bowl I threw at the floor for him to gobble up. 

That shit made me feel potent, dominant, I ain't gonna lie.

It had been upon entering my apartment one afternoon that I found a giant box on my coffee table, looking out of place amongst overall brown and black furnishings; this bright box done up in all red. With a scoff I checked it for explosives before revealing it’s contents to find a Gold-Inlaid Colt Model 1849 Pocket Revolver. . .this shit sells for 1.1 Million. . .and it was with that knowledge that I’d been keen on knowing just who the sender of such an item had been.

I’d doubled over laughing.

So, it went on this way for a while. The times Roman and I would happen to ‘chance upon one another’ or fall into a breakneck fight beneath dark Gotham skies, I always played up the immodest tart card. Teasing. Leading. And he followed the trail; come a few short days later I'd be rewarded a gift. This became something of a cycle. Something routine. Just, expected, yanno ?

Up until one drunken night I found the presents piling up around me to be annoying as all fuck in their gleaming elegence.

I wasn't a cheap prize to be won, some sodden part of my brain manifested this notion that then exploded into me breaking into Roman's estate and cursing for him to take every damned gift back, because, and I quote " I ain't your god damned slut mother fucker " more or less slurred.

There had been a beat of silence between us then. A beat. Just a beat. Before I was grabbed. Picked up. And I fucking cringe to say that that shit had me near to begging for him. Not many men that I've been with could pick me up, they never had the musculature and we’d always end up in missionary. But there I fucking was...being suddenly ripped piece by piece by Roman himself. Broken open.

 The callous scratch of the wall leaving red reminders trailed into the skin of my back, a surface I’d arched myself into as if to arch away. A part of me wanted that wall to swallow me whole, make me dissipate from here because I was feeling too much all at once. I didn't understand anything past our flirtatious banter. Didn't know the whimpered cries and wet moans coming from deep within my chest, nor the hands holding tight to the broad shoulders of this man who kept me blanketed in a hot rapture that not even Heaven it's self could muster the courage to match, and maybe that’s because this damned brute in a leather mask is the Devil; breathing into me all 7 Deadly Sin's at once, making burn within my esophagus a startling realization that all this time I may have been his fucking puppet whereas I thought it the other way around.....his fucking puppet now his fucking fuck toy.

I honestly can’t say how I made it back to my apartment. Last thing I recalled was being spent, slung over Roman's shoulder, then waking up in my own bed alone. Nevertheless, the scratches and metallic taste of blood were a clear reminder of the night we’d shared.

And upon that night, all that which I’d once known had been laid to rest.

Costly weaponry turned into expensive clothing. Expensive clothes turned into rare jewels. Jewels turned into a sports car, a sports car turned to a motorcycle....and my dumbass accepted it all, while discovering in me some sick, dark sort of amusement with each tiding.

Dick registered right away something was off with me, the depth in his blue eyes said it all as he took in my abrupt departure in fashion choice and of transportation. "I'm just doin' a bit better is all," I'd told him and he arched a brow while saying, "Look, I think I know what's up. But, only because I've been there myself. And let me just tell you that it's not worth it." I had scoffed, watching him walk away. Leave it to Dick to be the OG Sugar Baby of the BatFam. Somethin told me that Bruce was the supplier of his every need and hunger, but I refused to dive any deeper into that and left. In fact, I've stayed clear of Wayne Manor for quite some time. Refusing team ups, partnerships, and or pursuits having anything to do with Batman.

When it comes to Kori, she likes to dote on all that I've been given. On her own she unearthed the jewels I kept hidden away and tried them on for herself, twirling in the mirror and laughing while telling me, "Whomever this mystery man is has quite the taste," with a fancy wink. I'm shocked she didn't mention it at all to Roy--

---which is where we are now, currently in my safe house as I watch Roy check on his bow for scuff marks and pout over at me, grabbing back up his abandoned beer can. "I still say that someone bought you those pistols. It ain't your usual style, there too expensive seeming--"

"You callin me cheap ? Like i don't buy quality? " I ask a bit too defensively. Roy put his hands up . "No ! I'm just sayin...." his eyes squint a bit. “I’m just sayin that somethin's up with you man, an’ I got a bad feelin' about it."

I shrug, going to cleaning the mamba pistols of any blood tracked back from our earlier run in with a Mafia Boss and his little posse; which gets me thinking about Roman; the heated sting of his fingers, the scorch of those gloves everywhere they touched. And they never leave, those gloves. they stay on. Not because he chooses it, but because I demand it. I admit to being a bit of a masochist In the same way that I’m a bit of a liar A bit of a manipulator while also being the manipulated A bit damaged A bit taken for granted And with sense enough to know that Roman and I are destined to crash and burn But I’ve already burned once before, so;

     what's one more go around gonna hurt ?

[deathbled]

petals .       those worthless dreams have become nothing but a memory long ago  .

red ,    red ,    red .   running away from the colour meant to stain ones life was as miserable and pitiful as it was to laugh in the face of nothingness without shame .   to admit that one had precious little left in this world safe for companion & perhaps an acquaintance or two .  except for quiet soul ,   set to stay whenever possible for at least a while .   clay was no fool ,   he knew that perhaps it would have been for the best had he taken this flower of meeting and crushed it in his hands ;  caring about lumine hurts ,   he knows that .   but it is easy to do so ,  anyways .   usually he’d say something ,   try to lighten the mood or make a joke .   this time he remains silent ,   ponders on ways to make the silence less heavy .  usually it would be comforting ,  to just sit and talk .   with lumine it feels like there are many things he should say but none of them sound like they would ease the burden on her shoulders  -   whatever kind of burden that is .  in a way ,  scratch that ,  in a thousand different ways she seems like the kind of person to have seen many lifetimes worth of pain ;  has seen suffering enough for multiple generations .  ridiculously enough ,   he thought he was above anger at the unfairness of the world .  and yet here he was ,  cursing the archons and the entirety of teyvat and everything between and beyond for being so cruel and callous .   perhaps he was the kind of person to deserve such suffering ,  to watch the very color he dreads stain his hands and drip from them like the blood he’s shed in the past .

there is karmic justice in this ,  thinking he’s finally left all negative emotions behind and then feeling them even stronger in the face of someone elses suffering .   perhaps he had been meant to lose his bearings as his ideals dwindle ,  little by little .   perhaps this was divine punishment for holding on to these pathetic ,   miserable ,   shameful feelings of his .   long since he’s lost what he wanted to protect ;  losing sight of reasons to fight for without knowing why he kept going in the first place .   in this stagnant world all the helpless flowers had been weeded out it seems & for a moment there’s a flash of disgust at the thought of the unfairness of that thought . but he shakes his head ,  remains quiet until he can’t bear the heaviness of it all anymore .   she’s shown him nothing but kindness despite his incompetence ,  nothing but a surprising amount of patience in the face of his own lack of knowing and understanding .   he is an idiot ,  a complete and utter idiot ,  he knows that and he has long since accepted that .   perhaps it makes it easier to accept his past ,   to tell himself how stupid and worthless he is .   but he wants to be a little better ,   wants to try harder to come to accept himself .   because if he doesn’t know how to make himself smile than how can he ensure lumines smile ?   how can he ensure someone else can smile if they are too similar in a handful of aspects .   he’s certain his suffering is bad ,   but at times he wonders about the horrors she must have witnessed ,   the terrors she must have endured .   she reminds him of jianyu ,   in a way .   quick to react with mild ire yet with a good heart to them .   someone who despite their own burdens taught him what it was like to have and feel with a human heart ;   something his family never offered or gave him .

burnt fingertips dance across the scar etched onto the skin of his throat ,   the burns of the shackle still clinging to him at night and stealing his breath .   a sensation he would only have imagined from the anemo archon taking ones air out of their lungs as a child .    he offers a soft sound ,   something along a sigh and a tired exhale .   he wants to return the kindness she’s shown him ,   perhaps it was a natural thing for her to tag along every now and then ,   perhaps it was simply because she pitied him or because she had nothing better to do but to have an actual person to talk to ... to have someone at his side that could commune better with him than maurice ... it meant the world to him .   he has nothing to offer ,   if not honesty .   his hand moves from his throat to his head ,   messing his own hair up in a nervous manner before he exhales again ,   heavily this time .    ❛    i received these scars over a decade ago .      ❜ he begins ,   voice void of any of the positivity he tries so hard to radiate ;   instead ,   all that’s left is a tired emptiness he can no longer seal away .    ❛   i did something horrible and in return ... my own parents kept me shackled in our basement .   ❜   it is a heavy admission one whose reason he cannot bear to say ,   not when the red still stains his hands to this day .  but he continues ,   with minimal explaining he simply states how he used his own blood to free himself .  he does not dare say the entire truth because most certainly the traveler would look at him with as much disgust as he at the sight of his own reflection .   but he explains that in a panic he has done a horrible deed ,   that he is the worst kind of person to travel with because he is ,  in the end ,   merely a monster .    he is silent after that ,  expression void of all of the spark he used to have because in the end he does not understand how he truly feels ,  not even when he tries to force himself to feel anything .   ever since jianyu died he has been ... empty .   perhaps that is why he knows he should’ve trampled every little sprout of interest he had in lumine in the beginning because now he cares ,   and now there is the tiniest spark of light in his heart . and if he were to lose that one ,  too ,   he doesn’t know what he would do . 

❛   i lost the one person i cared about and ever since i wanted to live his legacy .   i wanted to leave every place i visited better than it was because that’s what happened everywhere he went .  but in the end ... i’m not sure about it anymore .   ❜    it’s a confession he never expected to make ,   not to the heavens ,   not to the archons ,   not to anyone .   but lumine wasn’t just anyone .   she was the only person he felt comfortable enough around to at least share part of his story ;   at first he thought it was just to try and crack through the walls she has built around herself that are so impossibly to break through that he thought perhaps this would do something but now ?   now it is merely a way to relief at least some of the hurt in his heart ,   a way to finally admit to himself that everything he has gone through was real even if he tries to bury it under the bones of a dragon .     ❛   i do not expect you to tell me what burdens you ,   but if there is anything i can do to help you ,   even if just temporarily ... please ,  let me know .  i owe you more than you can imagine .   ❜           /    @malibvnghts​

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 6

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 6: Tommy defends Leah. Polly (drunkenly) defends women all around the world 

(gif isn’t mine)

           Beth handed Leah a porcelain teacup with gold accents around the rim. Steam rose from the chamomile tea, the scent relaxing just enough for Leah to take a deep breath.

           “Thank you.” She whispered and wrapped her hands around the warm cup.

           Beth sat down across from her. “Can you tell me what’s going on or…” She had been born and raised in Birmingham. As a young girl, she had been warned about the Shelby boys. Especially when they came back from the war and began to gain power.

           “If I knew I would tell you.” She pursed her lips together and held the tea close to her chest. Leah wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Beth about what she used to do in London. But past history aside, she didn’t know what she could tell her about Tommy. What could she say if she didn’t even know what was going on? Was she involved with him or was it just a fling? Despite the anxiety of Rosetta’s men at her apartment, Lizzie’s words still echoed in her brain. A man like Tommy wasn’t someone who enjoyed settling down into a subdued lifestyle. He made the choice to continue this dangerous streak of his. There was something about it that he enjoyed or the reward was worth the consequences. Or perhaps he was simply too far gone to get his head out from under the water.

           Leah had no inkling and she had a feeling she might never understand. So did she just leave it? Pretend she didn’t have feelings for the man who practically rescued her from her own despair? He put an end to her self-destructive tendencies and told her she was deserving of much more. Could she really shake the memories of how softly he touched her?

           “I can’t tell you what to do,” Beth said steadily. “But I can warn you that if you do interact with him…you’ll most likely pay a price. I mean Grace…”

           “I know about Grace.” She interrupted her. Leah didn’t want to hear about Grace. She didn’t want to hear people blame Tommy for her death. Maybe it could be argued that she died because of him, but Leah knew that he never intended that to happen. “He’s not callous.”

           “He’s a murderer.” Beth retorted. She leaned forward and touched Leah’s knee. “It’s a cycle, Lee, and I think he knows he’ll end up dead one of these days because of it. But until then, I don’t want you to be a victim of the Peaky Blinders.” She thought about all the young men in Birmingham who either crossed the gangsters’ paths and paid the price, or the ones who decided it was better to join them and got caught in the cross-fires.

           Leah set her tea cup down and nodded slowly. “I understand your concern. You’re not the first one to warn me.” She informed her friend. “And I doubt you’ll be the last. But Beth, I don’t know what to tell you. My life, for the last few years, has been nothing but hell. After I lost Jonah I thought I’d never recover. But since I’ve met him…” Her eyes lowered. The things she accomplished in Birmingham listed off in her mind. She knew that night; she would be warm in a comfortable bed in her very own flat. She wouldn’t have to entertain a stranger, sell her body to make ends meet. There would be no marks on her skin the next morning from clients who abused their power over her. She wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces of her dignity every time she walked home from the hotel, the dawn rising behind her. Her self-esteem was building when before, it had only be crushed every single time she forced herself to act the part of an expensive whore. She remembered how Tommy held her close at that crucial turning point in London. When he promised to take her away from that cycle of misery, promised her everything and more. Promised to take care of her like he had told Jonah he would.

           “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Beth’s voice was gentle with sympathy. She could only warn the woman of the potential, or in her eyes, inevitable dangers. Whatever Tommy had done had obviously affected her to the point she wouldn’t change her mind.

           Leah swallowed her tears and nodded. “Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~`

           “You lads looking for someone?” Tommy introduced his presence on the street. A few smart passersby turned around to avoid the scene altogether. It was never a good sign when all three Shelby men were striding down the street like soldiers entering a battle. With John and Arthur flanking him, Tommy looked positively menacing.

           The three men turned to address him. “Waiting for a mate, ain’t none of your fucking business.” Andrew spat a bit of tobacco onto the sidewalk.

           John smiled smugly and cracked his knuckles. He liked when people underestimated his brother. It was entertaining and usually meant they would be dealing out some punishments. No one spoke to Thomas Shelby like that in the streets of Birmingham.

           Andrew’s cohorts looked uneasy. “That’s Tommy Shelby, let’s just go.” The youngest one decided it was too much to risk over a girl who defected from Rosetta’s harem of Midland girls.

           But Andrew didn’t see the danger in front of him. “I ain’t afraid of some gypsies.” He scoffed.

           Tommy slipped off his cap. He gripped it tightly in his hand and waited for a beat. Rosetta’s enforcer was a good bit taller than Tommy but that didn’t deter him. The bigger they were, the harder they fell.

           And he did fall. A mangled scream left his mouth only moments after taunting the Blinder. His hands clutched over his last good eye, which had been slashed. Those who were willing to challenge the Shelbys in their own domain would receive their signature attack.

           Blood seeped through Andrew’s fingers and dripped down his arm. He fell to his knees first before Tommy delivered a jaw-breaking punch and sent him to the ground.

           Tommy’s ears rang with the familiar static noise that filled his brain when he flipped a switch. That switch that allowed him to crush a man’s very soul while looking him dead in the eyes. It was such an intense state of adrenaline that he couldn’t register the world around him. The numbness he felt on the daily was enhanced, allowing him to detach from the ruthless force he was inflicting. Every sensation was dulled. He didn’t notice his brothers subduing the other two men. He didn’t feel his teeth accidentally bite down on his own lip during the struggle. He couldn’t feel Andrew’s warm blood coating his hands as he grabbed the man’s collar.

           The man was still shrieking in pain and fear while the last bit of vision he had left was slipping away.

           Tommy pressed down on his throat to shut him up and keep him still. He leaned close, not disturbed by the blood. “You go back to Rosetta,” He breathed heavily from the anger that was fueling his strength. His voice was just barely above a deep, hissing whisper. “You tell her that if she even tries to harm Leah, she’ll have the Peaky Blinders to deal with.” He released his hold and stood up. Arthur had one of the men in a headlock while John had the other man on the ground, a foot pressing against his chest.

           “Get him out of here.” He instructed Andrew’s colleagues. “If you come back here you’ll end up in the morgue.” He threatened and nodded for his brothers to release the men. He turned and dug in his pockets for a cigarette. The blood coating his hands stained his coat but he didn’t notice. He hardly even noticed his lip was opened up during the fight as it stained the cigarette red when he took the first drag. It would take a bit before the ringing in his ears died down.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Beth was standing by the windows, anxiously watching the street. She wasn’t keen on having the Peaky Blinders around her home and shop but she didn’t want to kick out Leah either.

           Not too long after Leah’s call, Beth spotted Tommy walking towards the storefront. His brothers had gone back to the betting shop so he was alone.

           “Leah…” She turned to the woman who hadn’t moved from the couch the entire time.

           Without a word, Leah stood and went downstairs. Beth didn’t follow but stayed by the window to keep an eye on them.

           Tommy tossed his cigarette to the ground when Leah came out. Concern etched her brow. “You’re hurt.” She whispered.

           He only shook his head. “No, isn’t my blood.” He assumed she was talking about his shirt, which had been spotted red.

           Leah, in fact, was trying to ignore that fact. She didn’t want to know what Tommy had done but she hoped he had gotten the men to leave her alone. “No, your lip.” She approached him and pulled out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. “You’re bleeding.”

           He touched his chin where a trail of blood had trickled from his lip. “Oh…”

           “It’s not too bad.” She carefully dabbed at the blood and cut.

           His blue eyes were fixed on hers, the aftermath of the fight was starting to die down. The numbness subsided and he could finally feel her gentle touch. Maybe that was the only thing he would ever feel again. When she moved her hand back, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He didn’t want her to let go.

           So she didn’t. She used her free hand to touch his cheek and pocketed the stained handkerchief. The pads of her fingertips subtly rubbed over his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch, grateful for its sobering effect.

           “The woman in your house this morning…”

           Tommy sighed because he knew exactly what was coming. His assistant had gotten to her first, which was probably why she had left before seeing him that morning. “Lizzie.” He nodded. “What did she say to you?”          

           “She warned me about you.” She answered honestly. “She said you’d get tired of me eventually. Told me not to waste my time because I would only end up hurt.”

           His eyes studied her face. She didn’t seem uneasy if anything she was longing for honesty. “Are you worried?”

           She nodded slowly and moved her fingers to graze down his jawline. “For you? Yeah.” Her voice was quiet through her admission. “Maybe I’m naïve for thinking you felt the same way as I did.”

           He shook his head and let his fingers loosen around her wrist, letting her go. She didn’t move her hand even when he released her. “You’re not.”

           “How do you know for sure?”

           “Because through everything I’ve been through, I feel much better with you.” He explained genuinely.

           Leah bit her lip. “I want to know what kind of man you really are. I don’t want to keep hearing about what other people think of you. You tell me who you really are and I’ll do the same. I just need to know that I can trust you.” Because she had lost the last man she truly trusted. And she wasn’t foolish enough to blindly trust the next person who came along.

           “I can prove that to you,” Tommy said with confidence. He knew there wouldn’t be anything he could do to harm her. Not when she knew exactly what he felt like. She knew what it felt to be numb. Neither of them wanted that anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           When Tommy entered the dress shop, Beth was with a client. The woman was the wife of one of his men. He tipped his hat to her before slipping it off.

           “Afternoon, Mr. Shelby.” She greeted politely.

           Beth wasn’t as welcoming. She was still highly suspicious of the Shelby. In her opinion, he had no right to her delicate friend. She didn’t know just how much Leah had fared. “She’s in the back.” Despite her doubts, she couldn’t tell him to piss off.

           Tommy nodded and walked to the back storage room. It was a narrow hall stacked almost to the ceiling with fabric bolts and broken sewing machines. The man was so stealthy in his movements that he startled Leah.

           “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Gave me a fright.”

           He smiled and he held his hands up in apology. “Thought you heard me.”

           She liked seeing him smile. Especially because he smiled when she turned around and his eyes settled on her face. At that moment he wasn’t the terrifying gangster that everyone else saw. He was just a man who was happy to see someone he was developing feelings for. These feelings were blossoming very slowly and tentatively. He was afraid of them for more than one reason, too many to count in fact, but he didn’t often shy away from things that scared him.

           “While you’re here, can you hold this steady for me?” She dragged a rickety chair towards him.

           “Sure.” He set his cap and newspaper aside to hold the back of the chair. Leah picked up her long skirt and stepped up onto the chair to reach a bolt of red satin. The aging wood creaked and he was concerned over a very loose looking leg. But it held up just fine and she stepped down without incident.

           Her hair swept past him and he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was so alluring he lost his train of thought and the reason he was there.

           “Up to no good today?” Her teasing reminded him he did have a purpose for being there. He wasn’t just there to see her, although that wasn’t a bad excuse either.

           “I wouldn’t bring trouble to you.” He replied with deep fondness etched into his usually intense tone. “I’ve come to tell you I’ll be off to Warwickshire tomorrow. Be gone for the next few days.”

           Leah tucked the bolt of fabric underneath her arm. “Little holiday?”

           “You could say that.” He shrugged and leaned his shoulder against a nearby shelf. “Going hunting with me brothers.” He didn’t tell her about the letter he received from America about his father. His brothers didn’t even know yet so he didn’t think it was right to tell her before he told them.

           “That should be fun.” It was nice to know he’d be away from business for a few days. Especially doing something that he enjoyed.

           “You could come along.” He offered. “Get out of Birmingham for a bit. You’d get to meet Charlie.”

           She sighed softly. “That does sound lovely, but I have to work.”

           “Soon though.” He stepped closer to her. The space getting smaller in the cramped room. “You’ll be safe with me gone?” He asked and brushed a few stray wisps of hair from her face.

           “I’ll be alright.” While Tommy was thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong, Leah was only thinking about how she would miss him.

           “I’ll leave the number to Arrow House.” He let his hand cup her cheek. His eyes were soft on her. “Call if you need anything.”

           “What if I just want to hear your voice?” A playful smile formed on her lips.

           “Then you know who to ask for.” He replied with a chuckle.

           “I’ll miss you.” The words surprised her even as they left her own mouth. But she let them remain between them without correcting herself.

           “Only be a couple of days, maybe less. Be back before you know it, eh?” He tilted his head down slightly to be at her eye line.

           Leah hadn’t realized how much she missed the way he looked at her. The way the ice in his iris melted significantly. “When you come back, can we spend time together?”

           “You want to?” Tommy had a lot on his mind. Things with the Russians were getting more intense. He intended on creating a plan that afternoon and setting it into motion as soon as he was able to.

           Her nod was a little timid. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” She admitted. “Beth thinks I’ve got my head in the clouds.”

           “That such a bad thing?” The corner of his lips quirked up. At least he wasn’t the only one who was getting distracted by the relationship.

           “S’pose not. Unless I’m being led along like a fool.”

           Tommy shook his head and tilted his head to kiss her. He figured the gesture was better. He could talk his way out of any situation but he had trouble with deciding exactly what to say to Leah. It was much easier to show her physically than to have to trip over words like a schoolboy.

           Leah kissed him back, focused on how gentle he was. One hand lightly touched her waist, his other hand combed through her hair, his long fingers slipping through her curls.

           He was about to take the fabric from her hand and deepen the kiss but they were interrupted.

           “Leah, did you find that red satin?” Beth called from the front of the store. “Want me to help you find it?”

           Leah pulled back from Tommy. “Yeah, I found it!” She replied and gave him an apologetic look. “Have fun on your holiday, yeah? Try to relax.”

           There was no promising that he could ever relax. That was something he was notably terrible at. “Give me a ring when you can.” He slipped on his cap again and reached into the inside of his coat to pull out his cigarette case.

           “Okay.” She pecked his cheek and slipped by him.

           Tommy’s hand slipped past the telegram about his father’s death. He sighed and went out the back exit of the shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Later that same day, there hadn’t been much activity in the store. Beth and Leah chatted idly but the conversation of Tommy never came up. In fact they both avoided it as well as they could.

           The door finally opened and Georgia, a woman who worked as a typist a few shops down, entered. “What're you still doing here? Didn’t you two hear?”

           “Hear 'bout what?” Beth looked up from her ledger at the counter.

           “Jessie Eden’s having a rally. All the women at the wire cutting factory’ve walked out.”

           “Really?” Leah raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the women’s rights activists who often held rallies for better working conditions. They were active in London and sometimes Leah would linger in the back of the affairs just to listen in. But there was no chance she could ever participate. The Midland girls, or the ones at the brothel, could never demand better conditions. Either Rosetta would put them out on the street or have her henchmen bully them into submission. But it was lovely to think about getting respect as a human being.

           “All the women in Birmingham are going down to the Bull Ring,” Georgia said. "Going to make a statement about the equal rights we fucking deserve."

           Beth looked unsure. “S’just us two, we don’t have any men to complain about.” She and Leah chuckled.

           “Then come and show support for your fellow woman,” Georgia replied with a hand on her hip. “Not all of us can be as lucky as you lot.”

           “If all the women are there then they won’t be coming to get dresses.” Leah pointed out.

           Beth smiled. “That’s a good point. Alright, let’s go support our fellow woman.”

~~~~~~~~~

           Indeed, it seemed every woman in Birmingham had shown up to the rally. Already, there was a buzz of activity. At the center of the crowd, an older woman was standing on the back of a truck, shouting to the women.

           “Oh dear.” Beth sighed. “That’s Tommy Shelby’s aunt.” She pointed to the woman.

           “Up there?” Leah stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowd of women. “She seems passionate.”

           Polly was yelling about a revolution, adding in curses every other word. She certainly spoke like a Shelby. But Leah wasn't sure that Shelbys were so actively public. They seemed to work behind the scenes to get what they wanted.

           “She seems drunk as shit.” Beth shook her head and laughed. “Wonder what Jessie’s thinking 'bout what she's going on 'bout.”

           “They seem to agree.” The women were calling out things that needed to change and how they agreed with Polly. "I think they really like her."

           Beth grinned and shook her head. “Well, I’m glad we can get out for fresh air. Just glad we don’t have to deal with men in our own fucking shop. I’d hate to answer to some wanker who doesn’t know anything.”

           Leah laughed and linked arms with her friend. “Maybe you should be up there yelling.”

           “They’re good for fucking but not for thinking!” Beth hollered. They both burst into giggles and joined the women in demanding equal rights.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Beth decided not to open the shop up again after the rally. Leah went home with a smile on her face. She enjoyed the sense of freedom she got from being there. No longer was she a working girl who had no voice. Men didn’t keep her quiet night after night. They didn’t look at her like she was nothing more than an object to be used.

           As she passed through the door, the phone began to ring. Setting her things aside, Leah went to pick up the receiver. “Ward residence.”

           “Were you at the rally this afternoon?” Tommy sounded tired but not angry.

           “Beth and I went to watch.” She answered truthfully. “I can’t imagine anyone didn’t go, the Bull Ring was crowded. I saw your aunt.”

           He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

           “They all seemed to like her.” Leah couldn’t help but smile. Polly only got more worked up the longer she stood preaching.

           “She can be more pleasant when she’s drunk.”  

           She laughed softly. “Did you have fun hunting?”

           “Shot a stag, so I can’t complain.” He wished she were there with him. Arrow House always felt unbearably empty after Grace passed. It was a little easier the more Charlie grew. He ran circles around his nanny but was a sweet little boy who always wanted to be outside with the horses. He made the house feel a little fuller. But there was an obvious gap where a mother figure would usually inhabit.

           “Well, I’m glad you could get the time off.” She said softly.

           Tommy nodded absent-mindedly although he had thought about nothing but business the moment he arrived in Warwickshire. And now there was a Bentley parked outside in the drive and he had an idea who might be in his office. “Can I take you out tomorrow night?” He asked.

           “Sure. To the Garrison?”

           “I was thinking somewhere for dinner? Somewhere quieter.” He offered. “That way we could talk.”

           “I’d like that a lot.” Leah bit her lip as she smiled. “You can pick me up at my flat?”

           “I’ll see you then.” Tommy couldn’t ignore what he had to do for much longer. There was information he needed and he knew how he could get it. “Have a good night, Leah.”

           “You too, Tommy.”

           He slowly replaced the receiver and took a deep breath. With another breath, he straightened his shirt cuffs and entered his office.

           “I’m sorry I came unannounced.” Tatiana sat at Tommy’s desk, a playful look in her eyes.

           Something, perhaps dread, settled into Tommy’s stomach like a deadweight. He had a feeling he was going to do something he would regret.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​

Tag list: @shelbyblinded​

Masterpost

Masterlist

[ardenttheories]

With the current update, a few pretty little thoughts have been rumbling around in my head. I definitely think that my previous theory that Dirk isn’t actually the Ultimate Self holds a little more weight with these past updates, particularly when you consider that his biggest hangup as explained by Brain Ghost Dirk is an incredible Destruction of Heart - evidence that he’s still Destroying his own sense of Self and Identity by declaring that none of them can ever have happy endings and that, ultimately, they have no capacity to be normal. 

How can you be the Ultimate Self when you’re so throroughly destroying your Self?

But that isn’t what today is about. Not entirely, anyway. No, what we’re focusing on today is a beautiful nugget of thought I had some three-ish days ago, following along the lines of what a Prince of Heart is.

Destroyers of Heart. Killers of the Self. At their worst, they eradicate all Individuality, all Identity - they create Splinters quite simply by fracturing their own Soul and splitting it up into itty bitty pieces. They take the core of a person and they snap it, crush it up, make something else and leave it behind. 

They take the very concept of a person, and they erase it from existence (as seen with Lil Cal, because we can easily say that in making Cal’s soul the individual components - Caliborn, Gamzee, Equius, AR - lose their Individuality, the things that make their existences unique, and are therefore erased entirely in place of this being that is Cal) or displace it and remove the identity (as seen with Aranea; if Brain Ghost Dirk had completed his removal of her soul, where would she have gone? Wherever she ended up wouldn’t have been her, and her whole sense and understanding of herself would have changed - or, perhaps, she simply would have been eradicated from existence).

Of course, what we have to consider as well is that a Prince of Heart’s Splinter, by warrant of being a piece of the Prince’s original soul, is also a Prince of Heart. At least in theory. 

We also have to consider that the original Prince is also the Splinter’s Self; they’re connected by Soul, fractured as it may be, and while their piece if uniquely their own and can develop as they exist, that tie never actually fades. This is why Dirk can, as his “Ultimate” Self, superimpose himself on the will of ever Splinter and take away their narrative importance. He’s the original, the strongest, and they are all simply parts of him that he can freely use. 

Except, of course, that we have one Splinter that isn’t wholly Dirk. One who has found his way into the unreality of the Candy timeline, and secured a small piece of the narrative for himself. 

Brain Ghost Dirk, for all intents and purposes, is as much a product of Jake as he is a Splinter of Dirk. Dirk is the basis, the foundation; but only so far as Jake perceives Dirk to be. Funny, how this Dirk isn’t nearly as maniacal as Ultimate Dirk. There’s more a sense of grounded acceptance than anything else, less of a hatred towards Jake as a symbiotic relation to him. There’s moments where he maybe reveals more than he wants to:

DIRK: People like us don’t get happy endings. 

JAKE: Is...is that really how dirk felt the whole gosh darned time?

DIRK: It doesn’t matter.

And, yes, this could be him brushing Jake off, a facile remark to quickly sway along the conversation towards something more relevant, but the next panel seems to hold a distinct awkwardness. Something that holds more of a confession than a callous slide along. 

This Dirk is Dirk as Jake remembers him to be. He even admits this to some degree - that he doesn’t always know which parts of him are Dirk thoughts and which are Jake thoughts. Nor does he seem to be entirely proud of the fact that it is a Dirk though. It’s not a consensus of “this is right and you should listen”, it’s “yeah, sometimes I struggle with figuring out which parts of me are you and which parts are the big man upstairs”. 

He’s definitely still undeniably Dirk. He says nothing matters because they’re gods, because the world comes first at the expense of all else, even personal happiness, and being a hero means making those sacrifices. 

But he also absolutely flirts with Jake the literal first moment he can - “Not to say the sloppy drunk look isn’t working for me, because it absolutely is” - and doesn’t that just go entirely against what Dirk does to Jake in Meat? What happened to “I’ll never let you hurt me like that again”?

He’s absolutely still Jake enough, too, to see everything in Candy as still oddly relevant. He doesn’t appear and immediately try to disappear, to make himself dissipate because he exists in an irrelevant timeline. Nor does he even suggest that this is a split timeline - that something here isn’t right and that they need to find a way to the true ending. 

What does he say instead?

DIRK: We’ve had this conversation before, dingus. I’m you. And I’m me. But I only exist because of your powers. The fact that I’m manifesting here, in the new universe, outside of a dream, is evidence in itself for just how absolutely boned you are.

DIRK: What are you doing? There’s a war happening. All of your friends are out there fighting, and you’re just here, what...dusting?

DIRK: Taking care of a house that nobody actually uses?

DIRK: You’ve been a useless sack of shit for two decades. I’m here to kick your ass back into active duty.

All things that suggest that this Dirk sees the Candy timeline as something Real and Relevant, is acting on Jake’s own personal desire to do something. This isn’t a Dirk that sees things as some wider game, or believes that there’s a point to plot and relevancy. 

He’s disconnected from Ultimate Dirk enough to host none of Ultimate’s memories and plenty of his own, and he’s enough of Jake to be mired in the unimportance of a long-dead timeline. It’s completely likely that he’s locked out of everything to do with the Meat timeline and that his existence is just another show of how immediately irrelevant things appear in Candy (he is, after all, a very irrelevant Dirk) - and that means he’s got no idea what Ultimate Dirk is trying to do. Connected enough to think like him, yes, but it’s also implied that Dirk has always sort of thought like this, that it’s not unique to Ulimate. 

He’s Dirk enough to know that sacrifices have to be made and that being a hero means not being happy, but Jake enough, it seems, to try edging towards that sort of better ending anyway. 

So, lets recap. We have a Dirk that isn’t wholly Dirk, who thinks enough like him but is still contained within the irrelevancy of Candy and not actively flipping shit about it. A Dirk who, by all intents and purposes, is still very much a Prince of Heart with suitable Princely powers, as seen from his time within the Game. A Dirk with the ability to Destroy Souls and the Self as much as any other Dirk, who is tied to the wellbeing of Jake English. 

Allow me to posit the idea, then, that Brain Ghost Dirk ends up being our hero. 

What else could possibly Destroy the “Ultimate” Self? Only another Prince of Heart could possibly be able to completely erase all imprints of Ultimate from the timeline. (Of course that isn’t true, but it’s the most poetic and, I find, the most satisfying conclusion to come across). It’s literally what they’re made to do; to Destroy the Self and all it contains even down to the infinitesimal components. 

Another Dirk, one gifted with narrative relevancy, allowed to flourish in this irrelevant timeline, already pushing towards plot without going too damn far. One with all the powers of Dirk but - so far - without the overbearing Epilogue Dirk mentality. One that’s more aligned with what we knew of Dirk before all of his corrupted development, and who will likely continue to be this way since most of him is founded on what Jake perceives Dirk to be. One who can’t suddenly go too far because he can only know what Jake knows. 

This would bring that old prophecy full circle as well. That one where Jake was meant to be the hero all along, the one to take down the big bad. Lets suggest, then, that Brain Ghost Dirk - as a facet of Jake - does the deed. It’d be poetic both in that sense, and in the sense that Dirk Destroying himself is the ultimate show of a True Prince of Heart. 

He’d have reason to do it, too. Jake’s goals are essentially his goals, and he pushes Jake to do what he’s always wanted to do but could never achieve alone. If the two timelines somehow came together, and Jake was made aware of what’d happened in Meat and who Ultimate Dirk was... There’s a chance that, combined, they’d think Ultimate Dirk is bullshit enough to need taking down. 

Or, even better. Since Brain Ghost Dirk seems not to care about the irrelevancy of this world, lets imagine he does find a relatively happy ending. One where he eventually becomes aware of “Ultimate” Dirk, or where Ultimate poses some sort of threat. As the one Dirk who’d found a happy ending, however relevant or irrelevant it might be, he might not be so willing to give it up. 

Because, hopefully, he’s enough of Jake to eventually see everything that Ultimate Dirk is doing and think it’s an unjust cause rather than a necessary one. 

It would, of course, also allow the potential for redemption. A Prince of Heart doesn’t have to actively destroy the Soul or kill it, either. That’s just one incredibly powerful, incredibly terrifying prospect of the Classpect. Brain Ghost Dirk could easily just Destroy the “Ultimate” Self. Strip Dirk back to bare basics and force him to live through the consequences of everything he’s done, confiscate the narrative and ensure that Ultimate is no longer an issue. 

He doesn’t have to Destroy everything about the main Dirk. Just the parts that are making him a villain - the same way Dirk did to himself in order to justify becoming Ultimate in the first place. 

So, while this latter part was a little more fanciful, I still think the core idea remains. Brain Ghost Dirk is still a Prince of Heart, and Princes of Heart are wired to Destroy the Self. The Ultimate Self isn’t spared from this - if anything, it’s even more at risk. It’s the conglomeration of all Selves, the perfect (supposedly) unity of Identity. A Prince of Heart can have a field day with what that means.

(The way Ultimate Dirk already has, if you consider that he’s just overwritten every other Self with his own Identity rather than become all of them in one unique bit. But again that’s me being highly skeptical that a Prince of Heart can even achieve true Ultimate Self status. Something like it, maybe, or what they think it means to be Ultimate, almost definitely. But to actually be the perfected, unique, wonderous amalgamation of Selves living in harmony? Hell no.).

He could very much be our final hero at the end of it, or at least work towards amping Jake up to that goal. I would assume that’s why he’s suddenly relevant again, why he’s managed to slip through the net. And how perfectly ironic would it be, at the end, if Dirk’s taken down by one of the Splinters he always said felt suffocating? One of the Splinters he’s told us, directly, that he’s no longer afraid of?

[larryfanfiction]

Movie! AU

🎬 The Proposal by curlshire (20k)

Louis is a tetchy editor and Harry is his unfortunate assistant. After Louis is threatened with a demotion, he quickly makes plans to fake a marriage to Harry. (Based off the movie The Proposal)

🎬 Supposed to Be by kikikryslee (26k)

“I’m making a movie for a film competition, and I want you to be in it,” Harry told Louis. “I think you would be a great leading actor in it.” “Why?” “Because it’s you. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know all about the amazing Louis Tomlinson? It would be a great movie.” “You don’t have some weird crush or, like, secret obsession with me, do you?” Louis asked. Harry bit his tongue so he didn’t say “Ew, I have standards.” He didn’t think that would go over well. Of course, that was assuming Louis understood what that meant. — Or, the Geek Charming AU where Harry’s a film geek, Louis’ a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

🎬 If I Should Stay by gloria_andrews (31k)

Louis is a television actor who suddenly needs a bodyguard. Harry is the bodyguard he ends up hiring.

A fic loosely based on the classic 1992 movie The Bodyguard.

🎬 Elysian by wonderlou (81k)

“What could be it, Niall?” Harry asks gently with a sigh. He slouches down further into his chair, crossing his arms lazily across his chest. He is bored. He has been bored for five years straight, but even more so now that his one interest has shut himself out entirely. Harry had not even heard from Louis, not since last night, not since he had gotten on his nerves so much that he was torn between knocking him out and smiling in surrender to the slight awe he felt. Louis is opinionated like no one he’s ever seen, but his voice is honeyed; high-pitched and indignant. Harry is nothing short of entranced.

Or, Harry is running out of time to fall in love, but with Louis, it seems as if there’s all the time in the world.

🎬 Because You Saw Me When I Was Invisible by supernope (32k)

A (not so) loosely-based Princess Diaries AU, in which Harry finds out he’s the heir to the throne of a country he’s never even heard of.

🎬 Dangerous Liaisons by IWillSingWithYou (42k)

Niall is the master of deceit and Harry is the master of seduction. Louis is just a very strong willed male model who happens to be straight. When Niall tells Harry he wouldn’t be able to seduce Louis, the bet is on, but Niall’s schemes are hard to avoid.

🎬 Leave Before The Lights Come On by Velvetoscar (15k)

Louis’ never had a one night stand in his entire twenty-one years of existence. Not once. That is…until now. And OF COURSE this is how it happened.

🎬 Let’s Fall in Love in a Place You Want to Stay by embro (134k)

A George of the Jungle / Tarzan AU where Louis is a model who meets Wild Man Harry in the Congo. He was raised by apes and barely speaks a word of English and turns Louis’ life upside down.

🎬 If You Wanna Try Me On by zimriya (18k)

To be fair, Harry’d been half asleep when Niall convinced him to put in his CV in the first place. Like, Harry wants to be a proper serious journalist–he’s not about to give up that dream in favour of becoming a personal assistant at a fashion magazine, or…whatever. Harry’s not actually all that sure what Tomlinson Styles even is, beyond his ticket to fame or any of the other things Niall’d spouted off at him, but when he shows up for the interview and is unceremoniously shoved into an office with the Tomlinson part of that equation, all Harry can really think about is that he would like to be a Tomlinson-Styles.

…or the Devil Wears Prada AU that no one wanted. Sort of.

🎬 when the city shines (like the sun at night) by fondleeds (37k)

In a different universe, a parallel dimension in which Harry is a braver version of himself, maybe he’d cup the back of Louis’ neck softly and melt their mouths together.

Maybe they’d tread on light feet up to Louis’ room because the house would be empty and they’d just kiss-and-kiss-and-kiss until their lungs burst, and then Harry would press his face into Louis’ neck and whisper I know you’re Blue, and Louis would do the same in turn, breathe that sentiment into Harry’s skin like a relief, and all the bad weight would lift, just the hot pressure of feeling so much remaining.

Love, Simon AU.

🎬 Now In A Minute by thealmightyavocado (150k)

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was.

More than anything in the world, Louis Tomlinson dreams of growing up. Simply skipping over all of the awkward, embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life. Real life.

So when thirteen-year-old Louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected everything in his adult life to be picture perfect. And maybe it is. He has it all…or so it seems.

Except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, Harry Styles, is totally missing from the equation and Louis doesn’t understand why. He has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, Louis can’t help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feels so empty.

Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

🎬 got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove (124k)

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn’t have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he’s rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he’s forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who’s spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

🎬 like cabbages and kings by you_explode (60k)

When Louis was a kid, he had a series of very vivid dreams about a place called Wonderland. There were rabbits wearing waistcoats and talking cats and ridiculous tea parties, and amidst all the absurdity, there was a boy. A boy with dimples, big green eyes and the sweetest soul Louis has ever known. Louis has always kept a place in his heart for that boy and for his funny dreamworld, and when he’s twenty-five and his life falls apart, it turns out Wonderland might not be so imaginary after all.

🎬 You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) by MrsStylinson (102k)

Bridget Jones’ Diary AU.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it’s a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

🎬 Just a Walk in the Park by comingbackhometoyou, forehead (124k)

It’s 2015, the first time dinosaurs walked the earth in over 65 million years. The multi-billion dollar company, Twist Corporations, is planning a summer opening for their world changing attraction, “Jurassic Park”.

They take an interest in the history making duo of Dr. Louis Tomlinson, a stubborn paleontologist, and his partner, paleobotanist Dr. Liam Payne, giving them the chance of a lifetime to work for the new theme park. Louis is apprehensive, but Liam has a “gut feeling” that it will change their lives. He isn’t wrong.

Featuring Niall as the top engineer to get the park up and running, Zayn as the raptor expert, and Harry as the grandson of one of the most influential men in the world.

🎬 Drowning In Your Eyes by smittenwithlouis (45k)

“Capt’n Styles, are you certain of this? They be attracted to man-made light.” “What is? Sharks?” The young blonde asks in terror. “Worse than sharks, lad. There’ll be flesh eating mermaids upon us in minutes, mark my words!” Paul huffs as he continues to wave the bright lantern in front of him, “And Captain Styles here, has us bait!” Or: The Pirates of the Caribbean inspired au where Harry is a fierce pirate who holds the heart of a beautiful merman.

🎬 everything that shine ain’t always gonna be gold by sarcasticfluentry (49k)

Inception-inspired AU. Louis Tomlinson is the most respected and skilled extractor in the dream-sharing business; together he and his point man Zayn have been hired countless times to steal hundreds of valuable secrets straight from the minds of CEOs and politicians. One day, a mysterious and wealthy client contacts Louis and Zayn, offering them triple their normal rate in exchange for successfully completing a job that other extracting teams have deemed "impossible.” The one catch is that this client wants the very best - so he’s decided to team Louis’ skills up with those of Louis’ most hated rival, another highly-respected extractor named Harry Styles. Can Louis and Harry work together to complete the job and get the payout, or will they lose their minds along the way?

🎬 Friendly Neighborhood Spideypool by shitucute (18k)

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood.” Louis’ got the urge to punch him in the face, but he knows deep down that if anything it’ll just add fuel to Harry’s innuendo fire.

“You know I only fuck you, not with you. There’s a difference. It’s slight but still there.” He’s joking, but it’s sincere in a way that only Deadpool could make it. It gives Louis a strange mix of emotions, his body doesn’t know whether to fill with butterflies or to knee Deadpool in the balls again for insinuating them fucking.

or, Harry is Deadpool and Louis is Spider-Man and they’ve got way too much history

🎬 Paint The Sky With Stars by kiwikero (62k)

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

🎬 The Dead of July by whimsicule (117k)

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

🎬 through struggles, to the stars by thedeathchamber (80k)

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what’s right. A Star Trek-inspired AU.

🎬 Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (95k)

“People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t know. It just does.”

Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six’s victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven’s victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

🎬 It Had To Be You by FullOnLarrie (45k)

Harry and Louis are strangers who share the long drive from Chicago to NYC after college. They don’t have anything in common, don’t get along, and at the end of their trip, they’re both glad to say goodbye.

During a chance meeting five years later, they find that nothing has changed, and they part ways expecting never to see each other again.

Ten years after their post-college road trip, Louis and Harry meet once again, but this time they become friends. Eventually, things get complicated.

A When Harry Met Sally AU.

🎬 Fool’s Gold by freetheankles (55k)

Leaflet for Over Again Inc.

“In relationships, there are three types of people: those who are happy, those who are unhappy but accept it and deal, those who are unhappy and in denial.

Handling this last category is our job: we are professional couple breakers.

To reach our goal, we use all means necessary.”

Or the Arnacoeur AU in which Harry is scheduled to be married to Liam in 10 days and Harry’s mother hires Louis and his team to break them up.

🎬 Light My Fire, Blow My Flame by messofgorgeouschaos (98k)

“In New York, you can be a new man.” Broadway actor Louis Tomlinson has it all. An amazing flat, a wonderful friend group, a Tony under his belt, and the world at his fingertips. Yet there’s one thing that’s missing. And it might be in the shape of the curly haired lawyer who becomes Zayn’s new roommate.

Or, the One Where…. Louis is a Broadway actor, Harry is a newly graduated lawyer, Liam is a radio DJ, Zayn is an English Professor at NYU, and Niall is a music producer. A Friends AU.

🎬 King of wishful thinking by Star_Henderson (38k)

“Don’t umm don’t get on the bus, come inside.” Louis blurted the words out, speaking quickly.

Harry looked startled.

“Just. Look I don’t know if I want..” Louis scrubbed his face with his hand. “I’ll pay for your time. Just come in.”

Harry stepped away from the bus stop and the bus sailed straight past.

“What’s umm what do you guys make these days?”

Harry shuffled his feet. “Depends. Like two hundred an hour.”

Louis hummed. “Reasonable.” He gestured towards the hotel. “Come up for a drink or some room service or something.”

Harry scraped the toe of his already scuffed boots on the floor. “You don’t have to do this, I feel like… like you’re a nice person who feels bad but it’s fine. I get it. You don’t have to make it up to me.”

Louis stared at Harry. It’d been so long since he’d even spoken to a guy let alone hung out with one. He’d enjoyed the banter and the flirting.

“Come up.” Louis’ voice was soft.

Harry’s face bloomed into a smile. “Ok.”

🎬 Supposed to Be by kikikryslee (26k)

“I’m making a movie for a film competition, and I want you to be in it,” Harry told Louis. “I think you would be a great leading actor in it.” “Why?” “Because it’s you. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know all about the amazing Louis Tomlinson? It would be a great movie.” “You don’t have some weird crush or, like, secret obsession with me, do you?” Louis asked. Harry bit his tongue so he didn’t say “Ew, I have standards.” He didn’t think that would go over well. Of course, that was assuming Louis understood what that meant. — Or, the Geek Charming AU where Harry’s a film geek, Louis’ a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

🎬 The Edge of the Stars by casuallyhl (16k)

Louis laughed. “You think you can convince some random guy to want to go out with me?”

“Oh baby,” Jay chuckled. “I can convince all of the UK to want to go out with you.”

Or, a Meet the Parents AU where Harry is the man of Louis’ dreams, and it’s up to Jay to convince him to date her son.

🎬 Keep on Dreaming, This is Hollywood by popfly (31k)

Louis Tomlinson, a pop star manager, makes his way to LA with a pop star (and his new music demands) and a very busy schedule.

Harry Styles came to Los Angeles with a dream and ended up sharing a flat and an occupation with a male prostitute from Ireland.

What happens when Louis meets Harry, and makes him an offer he can’t refuse?

AKA A Pretty Woman AU where Louis is the high-powered businessman and Harry is the hooker. No, there is no necklace scene, but there is definitely piano sex.

🎬 a promise lives within you now by sarcasticfluentry (45k)

A Lord of the Rings-inspired Middle Earth AU. Louis is an Elven prince, next in line to become King of Mirkwood, and Harry is the orphaned Human boy who grows up alongside him. They fall in love, but Louis’s obligations to the throne, Harry’s mortality, and impending war threaten to tear them apart.

🎬 don’t be afraid, it’s only love by threewhitehorses (14k)

A proposal!AU where Louis is at risk of being deported back to England and Harry just really wants a promotion.

🎬 I won’t be afraid (Just as long as you stand by me) by larrycaring (49k)

Harry leads an ordinary life, and he’s totally okay with it.

So, of course, when it all changes and he learns he is the actual Crown Prince of a whole country he’s never heard of, he doesn’t welcome the news with open arms.

Thankfully, Louis is there by his side, and that? That, will never change.

or a Princess Diaries AU that I just really, really needed to write. No regrets.

🎬 There’s Such a Lot of World to See by crinkle-eyed-boo (125k)

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Harry asks, thumbing at Louis’ hip. “Like what?” Louis asks breathlessly. “Like you’ve seen a ghost or summat,” Harry muses. “You did it all the time the other day and you did it just now.” Louis swallows hard, studying him intently. “You remind me of someone,” Louis says softly, tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear. “Someone I lost.”

Louis has seen a great many things throughout his travels in time and space, but only one he can’t explain: He keeps meeting the same boy, who says the same thing to him each time. The boy should be impossible.

Maybe he is.

A love story that defies the boundaries of space and time. Doctor Who AU.

🎬 Music To My Eyes by twoshipstiedup (23k)

A closeted actor and a struggling musician meet one night.

They fall in love.

A Star is Born AU

🎬 After Hours by Velvetoscar (26k)

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other’s existences. Unfortunately, they’re already in love–even if they aren’t completely aware of this minor detail.

[A “You’ve Got Mail” AU]

🎬  Simply Irresistible by Rearviewdreamer (12k)

Louis only comes to town to start up a successful restaurant, but finds he can't quite leave once the job is done. Though, that might have more to do with him falling for his quirky neighbor than anything else.

or

A fic loosely based on the movie Simply Irresistible. A silly and funny movie with Sarah Michelle Gellar about witchcraft, cooking, and sex that everybody needs to watch at some point in their lives.

🎬  A Study in Love by Rearviewdreamer (24k)

Louis knows everything about everyone which has put him at a great and weird advantage over nearly all of them since the very beginning. He can solve any puzzle before most people know where to begin. He is rarely perplexed, mistaken, or wrong, and obviously, Louis is never ever surprised. And yet, his new flatmate after a very long string of failed ones has Louis questioning how he ever did any of it without him.

[iamalivenow]

It's understandable, he supposes.

Watching his usually flat-faced professor be on the verge of tears for an entire week straight makes sense. Claude was on the other side of the field when Jeralt was struck down and coming across that, stoic professor over their father's body weeping harder then the rain wasn't exactly easy on him. Or on the rest of his class.

But for some reason, he really thought they'd snap back to normal on Monday.

Callous of him, maybe. He's sure if he told them they wouldn't care all that much. Maybe he's just immature when it comes to this sort of thing. He really shouldn't be, of course, he presumably makes widows and orphans every other week when they're tasked with clearing about a bandit camp or pushed in the direction of dangerous heretics, but still. This is Teach- Teach who smiled, maybe twenty-seven times, since they've met.

It's not like they really did emotions.

"We should do something." Hilda leans forward as conspiratorially as she physically could.

They sit at a dinner table together- well- everyone other then Leonie who's maybe taking it even worse then Teach was. The other students avoid them for the most part, though he sees them give his professor their condolences as they sprint down the halls like always.

"Do what?" Lorenz leans back in his seat, stolen wine almost sloshing out of his cup and onto his uniform. "How do we even begin to replace-"

"No one said anything about replacing." Claude reaches past Ignatz to push him upward. If they draw too much attention, no amount of lying will get them out of trouble for stealing communion wine.

"Yeah, just cheering them up a little." Lysithea makes a face. "Pay attention."

"We can cheer them up more than a little." Hilda frowns. "I mean, if we want to be realistic." She drags the word out until everyone, everyone but Claude, stares at her. "We'd all be dead without them."

"That is..." Marianne, who to her credit did hold out the longest, lifts the cup to her lips and drinks. "...Probably true- isn't it?"

"Mmhm." Raphael nods- "For sure."

"Well maybe you would have-" Lorenz' mumbling goes ignored.

What do they even like, he wonders. Fishing? Can they do something with fishing? Cooking maybe? They invited him to cook with them a few times. Gardening? Singing? He doesn't know anything about them, a fact that usually irritates him but now it's little other than guilt.

Should he feel guilty for not knowing his professor's hobbies?

He sighs, and the others turn to look at him.

Well, he is the leader, after all.

"Just- Just be good. Try harder than usual. They like when we're good at class."

Because they're a teacher.

And maybe sixteen of those twenty-seven times were in the classroom.

"Just study? That's the plan?" Hilda gives him an incredulous look, which, fair. His reputation does always precede him. "Really?"

"It's not a bad plan." Ignatz mumbles. "We shouldn't add more stress to their lives. While they mourn."

"I'll tell Leonie," Lysithea says, and stands up slowly, teetering only a little from the drink. "Does anyone know where she is?"

"Stables. I'll go with you, if that's alright?" After a nod, Marianne follows after her. One by one they all trail away from the table, hiding they're drunkenness as best they can. He's left staring at Hilda, who's left staring at him.

"Really, though. What are you planning?"

"I don't always have a plan."

"Claude."

He doesn't always have a plan. When he really needs one, they seem more elusive than Grand Relics.

"Just don't whine about not wanting to work too loudly, okay? Give them a break." She pouts, which is expected but agrees anyway, eventually, after emptying her cup.

"You too, then." She says. "With your weird cagey questions."

He really thought he was more subtle.

Goes to show what little he knows.

…

Things settle into some semblance of normality.

They just have more guest lecturers then usual.

Teach invites him out to tea, and he always tries to make time. He spends longer then he needs to, really, in the gazebo with them because for once the sad wet eyes shift back to neutral and he thinks he can push the trauma back at least for a while.

That's the best any of them can do, offer distractions, and behave. The day of the tournament sneaks up on him, mostly because it was never something he really paid attention to. He knew that sometimes Teach would enter them into it, Raphael and Lysithea had the most victories among them, and any prize money would be spent on them, which seems fair.

He's never done one before, which is why it's a bit of a shock when his professor sprints past the dining hall before turning on a coin when they spot him out of the corner of their eye.

"Sure." He says, even though he has books he has to get through and letters he has to write.

Because it's Teach.

They give him a new bow, silver arrows, tight string. He grips it tight as they walk to the training pit together.

"So I just shoot arrows at people?" They nod, say something about it being just like a normal battlefield, but, you know, people you see on a regular basis. "Sure."

Why they're not shooting at targets, he doesn't understand, but he gets into the training pit and knocks his arrow. Just don't get hit. He's usually great at that sort of thing. He goes three rounds before taking any real damage, and it's worth it just to see Teach clap for every round of success he sees. He gets an arrow through his shoulder in round four and Teach rushes over to pull it out and push a potion into his hands.

"I'm fine. Relax." He gives them his smile and tries not to show any pain. At least not on his face. "The magic will do most of the work anyway."

Felix puts up way more of a fight then he thought he would, considering Claude's never seen him with a bow before, and there is something that is probably very worrying about hearing cheers when he looses an arrow through Felix's calf but just like everything else he puts it in the back of his mind because Teach comes over and picks him up, spins him in the air and praises him.

"Didn't know you could lift me." He laughs when his feet touch the ground again. "You look way too scrawny." They deck him in the shoulder, and he laughs again.

They look barely human at all most of the time, but they're smiling now, (twenty-eight), and Claude sighs.

Fate is really weird like that.

…

He sits in his room, Jeralt's diary open in front of him.

Weirdly enough, there isn't a section on the god that apparently lived in Teach's head, who would have thought.

Just as Teach finally cheered up, or just got so angry that they forgot about their dead father, their... goddess, that's still so weird to admit or think about, died for them too. Or not died, but disappeared in a way that made his professor sad. Again.

He really doesn't know why he cares so much, because Teach preforms the same, fights the same, instructs the same, sad or not sad. They're always lethal, always driven, always brilliant. He closes the book slowly and rubs his eyes. It's already pitch black outside.

Sneaking down to get food is probably not actually worth it, but he does it anyway.

He almost gets caught by knights twice, but he makes it into the kitchens in one piece.

"Of course, you're here." Teach stares up at him like a- He laughs quietly and slips back to the stoves. "Like a deer." He says and looks at the stew they're making. "I thought you looked like a deer. You're staring."

They apologize and stare down at their cooking food. Their weird hair seems to hang even lower than usual. Are they growing it out?

"Why didn't you eat earlier?" He almost jumps. Their voice comes from nowhere, like a ghost of the Cathedral.

"Got distracted." He finds a clean spoon and gets a mouthful of steaming liquid before they can swat at him. "Jeralt's diary is just really interesting. When it's not about how well you kill bandits."

"Not exciting enough anymore?" Their hair hangs in front of their face now.

"I can only watch you murder bandits so many times before it starts to lose its appeal. What can I say? You're pretty one-note Teach."

Which is maybe the biggest lie he's ever told.

They stay in silence after that, Teach occasionally stirring their pot and Claude leaning on the counter and thinking about how wild his professor is.

"Hey, Teach? What's your name?"

"Byleth."

"Huh." He says. "Did your father name you that?" They shrug. Well, they did tell him that they didn't know their mother. Despite reading pages and pages of love letters and forlorn sighing, he didn't know their mother's name or Teach's name either.

At some point, the stew is done.

The old church creaks as they eat in the same silence. Teach's eyes almost seem to glow in the dim light.

God touched.

He remembers a conversation they had months ago about Gods and feels his face heat up a little.

"You're really unreadable, you know that?"

They just shrug again, and finish their soup.