#if that wasn't clear by the grief/mourning tag

[kitsune-sam]

Characters: Atreus, Sindri, Angrboda, Durlin, Lunda Additional Tags: Major spoilers for Ragnarok, don't read unless you have finished the game, grief/mourning, bittersweet ending, honestly it's quite a sad fic, sort of how I imagine a missing scene for the end of the game, god of war ragnarok, god of war ragnarok spoilers Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Language: English Category: Gen Summary: There's no easy fix for grief. No matter how much you wish you could change things.

When I got to the end of the game I genuinely thought they were leading up to something like this…but they didn't so….I wrote it myself! This took way longer to write than I expected (I got ill and apparently that killed my motivation until i fully recovered) but it is finally done :)

[jetii]

Promises Made (pt. 1/3)

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 5,234 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, this part is at least 50% bickering, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: This is my longest work yet, so I decided to split it up into parts. But if you’re just here for the smut, don’t worry, the emotional edging is worth it! It’s my first time writing Crosshair so please let me know how I’m doing.🤞 Part two will be posted same time next week.

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“I’ll be back before you know it.” You pat Omega’s head, smiling warmly down at the young girl as she clings to you. It hurt to leave her again, but you were going to be gone for a few days at most, not weeks.

Still, her grip doesn’t let up, and her gaze is turned downwards. Things had slowly gone back to normal since you all returned to Pabu from Barton IV, with the exception of Omega’s reluctance to let any of you out of her sight. 

That, and how Crosshair had been acting, which was to say he was avoiding you at all costs.

That was fine with you. The others may have forgiven him, but you weren't so ready to let bygones be bygones. You could tolerate being in the same room as him, but that was as far as you were willing to go. At least until you could figure out why you were still so upset.

And it was frustrating, not being able to put your finger on the cause of your irritation. Crosshair hadn't apologized, but you expected as much. He wasn't the type. You had already forgiven him for betraying the team and refusing to come back, but something was still keeping you from completely letting go.

It was unbecoming of a Jedi, you knew that, but you couldn't shake off your resentment.

It didn't help that his behavior was confusing. The day you got back, the others had gone about their usual routine. But not Crosshair. He was more quiet and standoffish than ever, but it didn't seem directed at anyone. It was almost like he was uncomfortable, and not just in general, but with being around you.

You knew he was spending most of his time by the water, though you never saw him when you went out there yourself. Just his rifle, sitting on the rocks.

The others insisted it was a good sign that he was taking the time to process everything. You didn't have the heart to tell them that you could still sense him through the Force whenever you went out, and his unrest was clear. The tremble of his hand, his uneven breaths, his mind racing, all of it.

The only other time you felt him was when you were alone in your room. You were trying to meditate when he walked past. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel him hesitating at the door, before he ultimately chose to move on.

The thought of confronting him made you anxious. You didn't know what would happen, and you didn't know if you wanted to find out. 

For now, you just wanted to keep your distance and get your anger under control. Leaving for a few days to take care of your own problems will give you the space you need, and hopefully, things will go back to normal once you get back.

"Omega?" you ask, trying to get her attention. She finally looks up at you, and you see the concern in her eyes. Your heart aches, and you kneel down, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I know,” she finally whispers.

She doesn't want you to leave. But you were.

The mission would only take a day or two, and then you'd be back. One of your old contacts had called in, saying that she had some intel you needed. You didn't have the full story, but that wasn't going to stop you from dropping everything to answer. You'd been waiting over a year for a call like this, and you needed to see it through on your own.

So you kneel, meeting Omega eye to eye. You hold out your little finger, and she sighs, unmoving. You wiggle it, drawing a soft laugh from the girl.

You’d taught her how to pinky swear not long after you rejoined the Batch. It was a sort of tradition between you and your Master, and him and his, and so on. 

The promise was more sacred than a verbal one to you, even if it was more juvenile than others. It meant that the person who sealed the deal was obligated to fulfill their promise, or face a lifetime of bad luck. 

Of course, you never believed that part, but you liked the sentiment behind the gesture.

"I promise I'll be back," you whisper, "don't finish Spaceworld without me, okay?"

"Okay," Omega mumbles, a weak smile on her lips. She takes your pinky with hers, and the two of you shake. "You promise you'll be safe?"

"Always," you tell her, low and serious.

Hunter watches the exchange, nodding his approval. He doesn't understand the point of the ritual, but he knows enough to know that Omega feels better. And that you'd keep your word.

Your eyes meet his and he nods, silently telling you to hurry and get going. You straighten and turn toward the Marauder, your bag slung over your shoulder, and start off.

Before you can step foot on the ramp, a voice stops you in your tracks, and your blood runs cold.

“You’re leaving?”

Crosshair steps out from under the shadow of the archway behind you, and you spin around. His eyes narrow when you face him, his hands clenched tightly around his rifle. He stands stiff, as though waiting for a fight.

You're surprised by his presence, surprised he's even talking to you, but your expression doesn't betray the shock. Your brow furrows as you regard him, trying to figure out his angle.

“I’m meeting up with a contact for a mission. I won't be gone long. Two days, maybe less, if everything goes according to plan." 

You don't want to explain further, and your tone leaves no room for argument. But Crosshair has never been one to listen to what you want.

He takes a step forward, his eyes flitting over to Hunter for a brief moment, before looking at you again.

"Who's going with you?"

You frown. "What does it matter?"

"Who's going with you?" he repeats the question, slower, a hint of anger lacing his words.

You're silent for a moment, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. You didn't want to tell him, but if he wasn't going to give up, it might just be easier.

"No one," you answer, the words spilling out. "Just me."

The second the words leave your lips, you know you've said the wrong thing. Crosshair's expression morphs into one of fury, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed.

"You’re letting her go alone?” he asks, turning toward Hunter with an accusatory look. You bristle at the remark, the need to defend yourself growing stronger.

Hunter sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances at you, and you stare back. You were determined to handle this alone, and while Hunter didn't like it, he understood. So you'd made a deal, the same one you made with Omega, that you'd return quickly and come back alive.

He gives a subtle nod, and you return it.

“I’m not ‘letting her’ do anything. She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants," he answers, crossing his arms. Crosshair's head snaps toward him, his mouth open, but Hunter cuts him off, "Besides, she said she could handle it, and I believe her."

Hunter's words should have made you happy, should have filled you with a sense of pride, but instead all you feel is dread.

If Crosshair had looked angry before, he was downright furious now. His expression morphs from shock to frustration, and his glare shifts from Hunter to you.

You're taken aback by the change. Crosshair had never looked at you like that, not even when he left the squad and you behind.

The look is gone before you can question it, replaced by a steely resolve. He stalks past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he climbs the ramp of the ship.

He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even spare a glance in your direction, and you stare after him, mouth agape, until you realize what he's doing.

"Absolutely not," you snarl, stomping up the ramp behind him. You move to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs you off. "You are not coming with me. I don't want or need your help."

Crosshair ignores your protests, dropping into the copilot's seat. He begins going over the controls, his brow furrowed.

"I don't remember inviting you," you snap. "Get out."

"Don't you mean thank you?" He doesn't turn to look at you, doesn't even spare a glance, as he answers.

"I will thank you when you leave," you seethe. You take a step forward, reaching for his shoulder again. You want him out, and if you have to drag him off the ship, you will.

But he's quicker than you, spinning around to catch your wrist. His hand trembles slightly as he holds it, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he releases you.

"You're welcome."

He turns away again, focusing on the control panel, and you growl, frustrated. You can feel your anger bubbling beneath the surface, and you know if you don't calm down, it'll spill over.

"Cross," you start, slowly, trying to keep the venom from your voice, "I don't want you to come with me."

"And I don't want you to leave, but here we are."

He doesn't sound angry anymore, doesn't sound anything, really, but his tone still sets you on edge.

"Look, I know you don't like it, but--"

"Then don't go," he interrupts, his fingers gripping the armrests.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was pointless. He isn’t listening to a word you’re saying, and the longer you argue, the longer it will take for you to get off world. If you don’t get going soon, you’ll be late.

"Fine," you hiss, moving to the pilot's seat. "Do whatever you want."

"Good," he replies, his tone sharp. He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed. 

You buckle in and begin the startup sequence, ignoring him. You try to focus on the task at hand, but his presence is distracting, and it takes you a minute longer than usual to finish prepping the ship.

He's still tense, and so are you, but the tension is different. It's uncomfortable, the atmosphere too quiet and too loud all at once. Neither of you speak, and the only sounds are those of the Marauder starting up and the distant chatter of the others outside.

You focus on getting the ship into the air, and Crosshair stares at the ceiling. When you've cleared the planet, you set the coordinates and the ship jumps into hyperspace.

The silence continues. You hate it. You hate how tense things have been, how awkward, how strained.

You don't like him, not anymore, and he's made it clear he doesn't like you, but you were stuck with each other now. You were on a mission, and you didn't have time to sit and stew in your emotions.

"I have a job to do," you say, finally breaking the silence. "It's nothing major, just an exchange. Intel for credits. If you're going to come, then don't get in my way."

Crosshair says nothing, and you don't turn to look at him, but you hear him shift in his seat, the fabric rustling.

"Fine," he responds after some time, his voice quiet. "So what are they giving you?"

You glance over at him, startled by his sudden interest, and you're not sure how to respond. He stares back, his face blank, his expression carefully neutral. It's hard to read him, and while you can't sense any negative emotion from him, you don't trust it.

You fidget, wringing your hands in your lap. This was a bad idea. You shouldn't have told him. He was going to judge you for it, or worse, mock you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words don't come out. What were you supposed to tell him? The truth?

No.

"Doesn't matter," you murmur, turning away from him.

You wish he'd let the conversation drop. You weren't ready for him to know. You weren't even sure if he'd understand.

"It obviously does, or you wouldn't be this worked up about it," he counters. His voice is quiet, but his tone is firm.

"I'm not worked up." You cross your arms, staring out the viewport.

"Sure you're not." 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes, and it makes you angrier.

"I'm not!"

"Okay, okay. Just calm down."

"Stop telling me what to do," you growl, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Stop being so stubborn, and I will."

"Why do you even care, anyway?”

He flinches slightly, and you can see his expression soften as you hold his gaze, watching as he searches for a response. It takes him a second, and you observe in real time as the walls go back up, his face morphing into a neutral mask.

"I don't."

"Then stop acting like it," you say, rolling your eyes.

He tenses at your words, and he doesn't respond right away. You think he's finally dropped the subject, but he pushes further, his tone cold. "Why do you need it?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're my business,” he says, quick and sharp.

Then, his eyes widen, and his mouth snaps closed. He's clearly as surprised by his response as you are, and the two of you stare at each other in silence, your heart pounding.

"Oh." 

You're not sure what else to say. The two of you aren't friends, aren't anything, but the weight of his statement doesn't go unnoticed.

You can't figure out if he means it.

You're not sure what to think.

"I mean..." he starts, but doesn't finish. He looks away, clearing his throat. 

"It's fine," you interrupt, not wanting to make things more awkward. The tension is back, and you hate it, but at least you've reached an understanding.

There's nothing between you, not anymore.

Crosshair's quiet, and you're grateful for the silence. You take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. You'd have time to unpack that later, but right now you had to focus on the mission. You could worry about him when this was over.

After a moment, he turns toward you, his gaze flitting over your face. He doesn't look mad, and his expression is almost pensive.

Finally, he sighs.

"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You shake your head. "You’ll find out when I get it."

He stares at you for a long time, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he huffs, slumping back in his seat. His resignation is a relief, and you breathe a small sigh.

"I have to ask," you begin, eager to change the subject, "what was the point of that little display?"

He raises a brow, glancing over at you. "Display?"

"With Hunter," you elaborate, "back there. I assume it wasn't just to annoy me."

He smirks, the corner of his lips curling upward. He tilts his head, and you try not to think about how it's the first time he's looked at you that way since everything happened.

"I was mostly doing it to annoy you."

"Of course you were." You roll your eyes. You don't believe him, not entirely, but you didn't doubt that he wanted to get under your skin. It felt like that was all he'd done since the beginning, and it was getting tiresome.

"But," he begins, leaning back, "if I can't talk you out of doing this, the least I can do is make sure you have backup."

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. Your mouth opens, then closes, and you blink several times. What were you supposed to say to that?

"That's... sweet, I guess?" You don't mean for it to come out as a question, but the surprise gets the best of you.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you're reminded of the old Crosshair.

The Crosshair who used to tease you, to rile you up, just because he knew it would make you laugh. The Crosshair who would sit with you while you studied, who would make you food when you were too tired to do it yourself. The one who loved his brothers fiercely, even if he was a pain in the ass. The one that you, despite everything, missed.

You didn't think he was capable of being like that anymore, but here he was, proving you wrong.

"Well," he says, shifting uncomfortably, "It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You can't help but chuckle at his reasoning, though there's a hint of bitterness to the sound, and his scowl returns.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, come on," you reply, crossing your arms, still laughing. "It's a little funny."

"Is not," he argues, but there's no heat to it.

You snicker, shaking your head. It's not funny, but it's nice. Normal, even. It's the most normal conversation you've had in a long time, and the most normal Crosshair has acted, and it's almost like things are the way they were before.

"Whatever you say, dear." 

The pet name slips out without a thought, and you regret it the second it does. You wince, looking over at him. You hope he doesn't take it the wrong way, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just scoffs, a small smile playing on his lips.

You relax in your chair, letting the tension slip from your body. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, how easy things used to be. It felt good, and you wished you could keep that feeling.

"So," you begin, "are you going to be a good boy while we're there, or am I going to have to watch my back?"

"I'm always a good boy," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh, and his lips twitch upward, a hint of smugness coloring his features. It's an old joke, and it's ridiculous, but it feels good. You didn't think he had it in him, and hearing his sarcasm again was a welcome surprise.

"We both know that's not true."

"You'd be surprised." He stands, stretching his arms over his head. When he lowers them, he looks at you again, a faint smirk on his lips. "I can be very good, when I want to be.”

He brushes his fingers across your shoulder as he walks past, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help the heat that rises to your face, and you're thankful that he's turned away from you.

You're left in a daze, your mind racing. You didn't think he was capable of having a civil conversation with you, let alone flirting. And yet here you were, trying desperately not to think about the implications behind his words.

It reminded you of before, before everything had gone to shit. Back when he could make you laugh in just a few words and make you blush with even less. He’d tease and flirt and push all your buttons, and it drove you crazy.

And you loved it.

You thought maybe you loved him too, at some point.

But he had thrown all that away when he abandoned the team. He had tossed aside every moment of laughter and affection and friendship, and he'd never seemed to care. And maybe that's what hurt the most, knowing he'd so easily let go of whatever it was between the two of you.

You'd tried not to think about him, after he left. You'd thrown yourself into the missions, and you'd tried not to look back. The others had done the same, you thought, but when Crosshair came back into your lives, they had forgiven him.

So why was it so hard for you?

The answer was supposed to be easy. You’d been the one he’d tried to kill, after all. But you knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was the chip. You wanted to forgive him, and in a way, you had, but it still hurt.

Maybe it was because he had hurt you, not physically, but in another way. A deeper way. He had left you. He had abandoned the team, and he had left you behind, and despite ample opportunities, he'd refused to come back.

Or maybe it was because, after all that, after he'd hurt you and the people you cared about, you still couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

Maybe, deep down, you were worried that part of you still loved him.

Your head was spinning. You needed a drink, or a nap, or a distraction.

"Where are you going?" you call after him.

"To make sure Omega didn't sneak aboard," he calls back.

You can’t help but smile, shaking your head. He'd never admit it, but he cared about her. He'd probably deny it to his dying breath, if asked, but you knew better. And as you watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling blooms in your chest.

It's warm, and light, and familiar.

And for a brief moment, things almost feel right again.

Crosshair is, for lack of a better word, insufferable. He doesn't listen to a word you say, doesn't follow your directions, and has a bad habit of doing the opposite of what you tell him to do.

He also has a knack for making you feel like an idiot. It was something you conveniently forgotten about during your time apart, and now, you were beginning to remember why you'd fought so much in the past.

And the worst part was, he wasn't even trying to piss you off.

He was just...himself.

"That's not how it's done," he sneers, leaning against the wall. His eyes are on your hands, watching you clean your blaster. You know this game, and you don't want to play. So you do the one thing that always seems to get under his skin.

You ignore him.

You pretend like you haven't heard him, and you continue with your task. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look up. He sighs and huffs as you wipe around the trigger mechanism, he crosses his arms as you check the power cell, and you know he's getting antsy.

It isn't until you wet a swatch with solvent and push it through the barrel from front to back, and Crosshair makes a noise of disgust, that you snap.

"What?" you bark, your grip on the weapon tightening. You're not angry, not yet, but you can feel it creeping up on you.

“You’re going to damage the rifling,” he says, pushing off the wall. He reaches for the weapon, but you pull it out of his reach.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly." He rolls his eyes. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to to end up with a misfire or a malfunction, and I don’t think either of us want that. Do you?"

You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. "No, but—"

"Then give me the damn blaster," he says, reaching out again.

You consider refusing, just to prove a point, but his tone has caught you off guard. He doesn't sound condescending, or mocking, or even annoyed.

He sounds worried.

So you hand it over, and he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours.

"Just let me do it, alright?" he asks, and the frustration in his voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

You nod, watching as he sits next to you, his attention on the weapon. His movements are confident, practiced, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers move as he cleans.

You watch as he sets the blaster aside, grabbing the canister of solvent and a rag. Crosshair's movements are quick and meticulous, and he doesn't miss a spot. What took you nearly twenty minutes to accomplish, he completes in five, and his technique is far more thorough than yours.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t blown your hand off yet," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “If this is what the Jedi were teaching you, no wonder the Empire wiped them out."

Any good will you were feeling toward him disappears in an instant. You bristle, your anger returning, and you glare at him.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," he teases, his lips twitching upwards.

You can't decide if his comment was meant to piss you off or annoy you, and you settle for a combination of the two. You're not sure why you expected anything else from him, but the joke hits a sore spot. The fact that he doesn't realize what he's said, that he doesn't understand what he's done, only makes it worse.

Crosshair's smile falls when you continue glaring despite the flush in your cheeks, and you can sense his frustration. He huffs, looking back down at the weapon in his hands.

He's quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft.

"Here," he says, holding the reassembled blaster out, its barrel glistening. It’s the cleanest it's been in months, though you won’t admit it out loud.

Crosshair had always taken great pride in the cleanliness and efficiency of his weapons, and seeing his handiwork in front of you reminds you of simpler times. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d passed out from exhaustion after a mission or gotten too distracted, only to find your weapons cleaned and ready to go the next morning.

It had irritated you, at first. You hated having your things touched without permission, but eventually, you got used to it. It was nice, knowing he cared enough about you to do such a thing. Though Crosshair always denied it when you tried to thank him. As if it would be anyone other than him.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and it’s genuine.

He looks at you, and there's a flash of something in his eyes, something softer than the usual indifference. But it's gone before you can decipher its meaning.

“Why do you still use that thing, anyway?" he asks. “It's a piece of junk. Don’t you have a lightsaber?”

You suck in a breath, his words cutting deep. Of course he would bring up the one thing you didn't want to talk about. You should have expected it. You weren't sure why it had never come up, but you should have known it would happen eventually.

He's staring at the blaster, and you know he didn't mean to hurt you, not this time, but the ache is there, nonetheless. The grief sinks in your stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, and your hands shake. You clench them into fists, hoping to hide the movement.

You've gone quiet for too long, and Crosshair knows he's hit a nerve. He turns his attention to you, and his eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

You're pale, your expression pained. Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw set, and your shoulders are stiff. “No,” you say, your voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

He frowns. He looks confused, and for a second, he almost looks worried. "What happened?"

“I lost it.”

“What?" His voice sounds incredulous, as if the concept is inconceivable. "When?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears. You'd promised yourself you'd never cry over this again, but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought. It hurts, talking about it, and a part of you wants to shut him out. 

But another, bigger, part of you wants him to know. Maybe it's a test, of sorts. If he can't handle this, if he doesn't want to hear the truth, then there's no way he'd be able to handle the rest.

“On Kamino," you say, and your voice shakes, despite your best efforts. You pause, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes, and the memories come back, clear as day. "Around the same time I…” 

You can’t continue, but the words are there, lingering in the air. The same time I lost you.

His mouth forms a silent 'oh', and the room falls silent. You look at the floor, avoiding his eyes, and he does the same. You're not sure how much time passes, but it feels like hours.

He clears his throat, and the sound breaks the spell. You look up, and his eyes are on you, intense and dark. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the apology surprises you.

"Don't be." You shrug, but you can't shake the melancholy that's settled over the room.

"You should get a new one," he suggests.

You shake your head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Crosshair hums, and he turns away from you. He picks up the cleaning kit and places it back on the shelf. You watch him, wondering if that's the end of the conversation, and a part of you hopes it is.

But when he turns to face you again, his expression is pensive, and his tone is somber.

He sighs, and the weight of his words hit you, his voice quiet.

“You’re not the same, either."

You swallow thickly, unsure how to respond. You’ve had the same thought rolling around in your head for months, but to hear it spoken out loud, to hear it from him, suddenly makes it seem real.

Because he's right.

You aren't the same, not anymore. You hadn't been since the fall of the Order, since Crosshair left, since you'd lost everything. And you couldn't deny the changes that had been wrought within you, no matter how hard you tried.

"Yeah," you say, and the word is heavy on your tongue. “I guess not.”

You stare at each other, and a moment passes. It's an unspoken understanding, an admission, and neither of you can find the right words.

It's then that you realize that maybe he's changed, too.

And that, for whatever reason, makes you sad.

The silence drags on, and you're not sure if he's waiting for you to speak, or if he's waiting for something else. His eyes are searching, his mouth slightly parted, and he looks almost nervous.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and there's a pressure behind your eyes. You want to say something, but you can't think of anything. You're not sure if the urge is to comfort him, or comfort yourself.

You're grateful when you can feel the the hair on the back of your next prickle, a sign of something shifting in the Force. It's a distraction, a welcome one, and you take the opportunity to break eye contact. You stand to make your way to the cockpit, holstering your blaster as you go.

When you reach the door, you pause, glancing back. Crosshair is still standing in the middle of the room, his head tilted in your direction. His eyes are fixed on you, and he looks almost sad.

You swallow thickly and force yourself to speak. “We should be there in a second."

“How do you—“ 

He’s interrupted by the subtle lurch of the ship dropping out of hyperspace, and his confused expression turns to one of exasperation.

You smile, just a little, and Crosshair scoffs.

"Show off," he mutters, following behind you.

[bakersgrief]

WARNINGS: Angst with a happy ending, gn reader, author's first time attempting to write angst. 😅

Kenshin hated this. He hated his inability. His inability to sympathize with or to comfort his lover in this time.

Their grief was his grief. As they finally took the time to mourn the loss of their past life, the friends and family they would never see again, Kenshin could only watch in devastation.

It wasn't a mere afternoon of sadness and crying. Of course, there was crying.

Kenshin held his lover close as they sobbed into his chest, the realization of what they had left behind coupled with the guilt of what they were feeling causing the tears to flow without end.

"I shouldn't feel like this." They sobbed. "I chose to stay, and I'm happy here, and I love you so much, truly-"

Kenshin silently held them. What words could he possibly offer? They would never see their family or enjoy the comforts of home again.

Kenshin could barely begin to imagine their grief, or what they had lost. These were things he had never had to begin with.

...No. These were things they had given him. A love and joy so immense he felt as if he could barely breathe in the face of it all.

The thought of losing his beloved and all that they had given him was too crushing to even ponder. It was something that was always on his mind in the first place.

So, pushing those thoughts aside, Kenshin held his lover in his firm arms, becoming their anchor in the gale of their sadness and despair.

It was the most tortuous week of his life. His sun and moon was wasting away in his eyes. They slept more and ate less, often gazing into the reflection pond in contemplation.

That made Kenshin's blood run cold. Did they regret their decision? Surely he wasn't making them happy enough if they were so distressed about what they had given up.

Kenshin let himself fall into his own pit of despair at his lover's state. He rarely ever left their side, insisting he be there to give them support when it was needed.

A reminder to eat, a gentle hand helping them bathe.

And slowly, slowly, they began to recover. The light began to return to their eyes.

Kenshin could mark the exact moment they gave him a truly happy smile again after dealing with their grief. And his heart finally stopped feeling as if it was at the bottom of a cold pond.

The sky cleared and his beloved moon and stars were shining brightly at him again.

Brief bouts of homesickness were sure to happen. But the sudden shock of loss was gone, replaced with a hearty joy of their new home, new friends, and new family.

"I would always choose you... again and again." They reassured Kenshin from within his crushing embrace.

"I just wish... I could have said goodbye."

Kenshin nodded silently.

"But it's okay. Even if no one I knew can find peace after my disappearance... I'm sure they would understand if I told them I found the love of my life."

They looked up at him, gifting the melancholy god with a sweet kiss. Kenshin reveled in the taste, in the feeling and their warmth.

"I love you." They whispered.

It was a mantra of strength, of determination. Of rebirth into their new life with him, away from everything they once knew.

The God of War only had one reply.

"I love you."

A/n: I'm not experienced writing angst, ESPECIALLY when it has a happy ending. But I hope it was okay?

Thank you for the request @oda-princess ! The original ask got deleted, sorry about that ^^;

Taglist: @shadowylakes @floydsteeth @sh0jun @rou-luxe @letter-from-afar @mxrmaid-poet @anonymousnamedhera @kanatashinkaifr @rookkunt

Kenshin tags: @oda-princess @cherrykasugayama

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Nineteen

Brushing Teeth - Joel Miller/F!Reader

Summary: Grief is cruel and just because you and Joel live in the safe haven that is the Jackson community it does not mean you're immune to it.

Possibly the saddest (but also kinda best) thing I have written so far.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: 2400

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, jackson era, No use of y/n, Crying, past trauma, Survivor Guilt, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Tooth Brushing, This is like seriously sad pls beware, Author has already scheduled a therapist appointment

AO3 LINK

notes: a huge thank you to my beta babes maria and aura for reading this a month in advance. i love you both so much.

this is a really, really sad fic. it's likely not gonna go the way you think. please continue with caution <3

_________________________________________

Circles

He died just after sunrise.

It had been supposed to be a simple shift, guarding the perimeter from one of the high posts along the fence that stretched around Jackson. The wood had been icy, slippery. There had been a railing. But when his heart had failed and he had collapsed to the ground, slipping over it like an ice rink, it hadn't been able to stop his body from falling.

There was nothing that could have been done. He had been old, older than most. Even with modern medicine, his condition would have caught up to him sooner or later.

Fate had decided on sooner.

Word hadn't reached Joel before he had left for patrol and so he had spent the day clearing Infected and checking the lookouts, unaware of the tragedy that had, for once, struck within the very borders of home. It wasn't until he came back in the early evening, that he noticed something was off.

There were no children bustling around on the playground, no adults studying the notice boards to see which movie was on tonight or who offered guitar lessons. Curtains were drawn shut. It was quiet.

The somber look on Tommy's face, who was waiting for Joel at the stables, was enough to send him into a panic.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

Tommy must have seen it coming because he had already raised his hands, as if surrendering to his brother, ”They're both fine.” Joel nodded solemnly as Tommy explained, repeating the events of the day in a few words.

He could live with that. As long as it wasn 't Ellie. Or you. Never you.

Ellie had spent the day with you, trying to look after you, doing the best she could. She was waiting in the large armchair in the living room, as close to the front door as she physically could.

Joel practically barges in, his gaze quickly checking the adjacent rooms. When he sees Ellie, he immediately relaxes a bit, knowing that at least someone has been here. Someone who kept watch.

“How is she?” He asks, disregarding any need for a greeting towards the teenager. She doesn't seem to mind, instead hopping up from the seat and walking with him, the pair quickly moving through the hallway.

“I gave her some food. I don't think she ate any of it. She wouldn't talk to me either. I'm sorry, Joel, I-'' He quickly shakes his head. He'll take care of Ellie, reassure her that she did a good job, which he undoubtedly knows she did. But Ellie is not the person in this house who needs him the most right now. Ellie is not the person who lost someone today.

“Later, okay?” Joel demands softly. His voice carries an underlying, stern tone that he rarely uses anymore. In other circumstances, Ellie would get mad at him, but she understands. He is in survival mode. He is making sure the people he loves are still there. He is scared.

Joel remembers your form that he had left behind this morning. Still in bed, sleepy, only reluctantly pressing a small kiss to his lips, the sweet promise of a few more minutes of sleep too tempting to ignore. He remembers the night before, the bubbly, talkative personality you usually have, that is a just little too much for him sometimes.

Your world had changed in just a few hours, a few minutes. And he hadn't been here.

Why had he not been here?

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks hesitantly and only then Joel realizes that he's stopped in the middle of the hallway. He continues his steps.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Ellie gives a shrug next to him but Joel barely notices, still too caught up in his thoughts.

He needs to see you. See that you are fine, just like Tommy had promised. Not truly fine, maybe, but alive. Breathing.

As they reach the old, wooden staircase, Ellie stops, taking in Joels gaze, that to her, still seems miles away, ”She wouldn't leave the bed. I barely recognized her.”

Joel just nods, his worry growing with every word. His grip on the banister tightens slightly, knuckles turning white.

“Go see her,” Ellie whispers and gently nudges him.

“Right.” That finally gets Joel to move again, his voice a little higher than usual and trembling slightly. Ellie knows he is close to crying. She presses her fist into his back a little harder and he nods again before he hurries up the stairs two steps at a time.

It's not until he reaches the end of the landing, until he is two steps away from the bedroom door that he slows down. Once again, uncertainty takes over his body. What does he say? Do? He's not equipped to handle this, he's not good with emotions, much less sad ones.

He's not sure what happens. An instinct takes over, steering his body steadily towards the door and pulling his fingers towards the brass handle. Maybe it's some old, parental instinct from before the outbreak, that he still carries buried in the back of his mind. Either way, he sends a silent, thankful prayer that it's there, that it allows him to continue putting one foot in front of the other despite having no idea how to.

The wooden door creaks slightly as he pushes it open. It's a familiar sound, more comforting than unnerving.

Joel is greeted by cold and darkness. He shivers as he steps into the room:'' Jesus Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He doesn't have to wait until his eyes adjust to the light. He can find his way in the darkness. 

He quickly turns the radiator higher, another familiar noise flaring up. Familiar is good. Familiar is safe.

He doesn't want to turn on the big light but he finds the switch for the small lamp in the corner and finally, he can take in the scene before him. His gaze is immediately caught by the bed in the middle of the room.

Whenever he goes out on patrol and you get the bed to yourself, you make use of his absence by occupying the entire bed, sprawling yourself out in the middle of the worn-out mattress. More than once, he had to physically fight you if he wanted his side of the bed back.

Now, however, you aren't in your usual position. You are curled up, tucked into the far corner of the bed, blankets and pillows wrapped around what Joel can only assume to be your body, some of them resting against the headboard.

It almost looks like you are trying to protect yourself, shield yourself from the grief that is knocking on the door downstairs, that is coming the same way he just has, slipping into the dark, cold room. A nest, to fend off the grief. Joel knows it wont work. He has tried.

A few of your limbs poke out from holes in the fortress of pillows and blankets and Joel softens slightly as his gaze wanders over them. He suddenly wants to run again, but he is afraid it'll startle you so instead, he approaches slowly, softly, like one may approach a wounded animal.

The bed dips slightly beside you as he sits down, his strong arms immediately wandering under the covers, searching for you. He finds the fabric of a shirt first, and then there's skin. Soft, gentle skin and he wants to cry with the familiarity of it. Looking down, he isn't surprised to see the shirt he had discarded last night, his favorite green flannel, now wrapped around your trembling body.

The thoughts come back. A small body, wrapped in a flannel shirt. He has seen it often enough to fill several lifetimes. He doesn't mind it anymore.

He knows it's a lie. He does mind it.

They had wrapped Sarah in flannel.

He can still see her. Still see the shirt, stained with blood. There had been so much blood.

Joel thinks about his daughter, his everything, his whole world, taken from him, wrapped in a shirt and buried in a backyard under a tree somewhere in Texas.

Joel knows he can't have these thoughts right now. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're bursting. He pushes the thoughts away. Later.

His right arm finds your hair and you finally make a noise, whimpering softly at finally, finally having him here with you.

The blanket is gently pulled to the side, allowing Joel to see your face. Your hair is messy, your cheeks tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy from crying. You look like you have just been through hell.

Joel reminds himself you probably have.

His insides clench as he pushes down his own tears. And then you open your mouth.

“It was supposed to be my shift.”

That's all it takes. He hates himself because he's supposed to be there for you, he's supposed to be strong. But the fear is stronger, the knowledge that he could've lost you today gripping him again and not letting him breathe.

He leans forward in an attempt to hide his tears, his face, his own sorrow and you break too, shamelessly sobbing into his chest. You stay entangled like this, bodies pressed tightly together, you crying loudly and him crying silently. It feels like a long time. Your voice becomes hoarse but the sobs wont stop. You're not sure they ever will.

Joel moves, eventually, kneeling down on the floor so that his face is level with yours and he can study your face. His hands remain on your skin, not once breaking contact. He rubs small circles into your skin, caressing every part of you he can reach. 

Nothing can touch you as long as he does.

“Gonna help you a bit. That alright, darlin'?” He mumbles softly. Your answer comes automatically, the same one you've given Ellie throughout the day, ''I'm not hungry.”

“I know you ain't,” Joel mumbles. He lets it slide:” But we should clean you up. Just a bit.” He promises as he leans forward and kisses your cheek. You don't struggle as he picks you up more carefully than ever, hoisting you onto his hips and wrapping his arms around your legs to keep you upright against his chest. It's almost like being carried by a father.

Joel takes you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter. There is a bald patch on the wall where a mirror used to be until he gave it to Ellie. He always gives.

Patiently, he waits until the water is lukewarm and then begins wiping your face with a washcloth. You probably smell but you can't bring yourself to care and neither does Joel.

He moves on to your hair, untying the knot that once resembled some sort of hairstyle and brushing through it with his fingers for a moment before tying it back again. His movements are so gentle, so smooth. You watch as he grabs your toothbrush, gently wetting it and putting some toothpaste on, his left hand all the while remaining on your thigh.

Joel gently nudges the toothbrush against your mouth and you dutifully open up, allowing him to start brushing your teeth, still as gentle as he can.

He can feel the sadness again, threatening to overwhelm him. He brushes in small circles.

The last time he had done this was with Sarah. She was eight. She had been sick then, caught a stomach bug at soccer camp and thrown up for days. Joel had dragged his mattress to her room, sleeping beside her.

He moves on to the other side of your mouth. More circles.

Sarah had vomited on him, in the middle of the night, staining both the carpet and his pants. He hadn't batted an eye, just stripped the beds and taken her to the bathroom to clean her up. All he had needed was for her to feel better. And if him enduring it would lessen her suffering, he would have chosen it time and time again.

He doesn't say this. He thinks he may, some day. But not anytime soon.

Circles. Joel brushes in circles.

When he's done, he holds a cup to your lips and you lean sideward, spitting into the sink. He is still caressing your thigh, a constant, reassuring touch. He brings his other hand up to your face, using his thumb to wipe the last bit of toothpaste off the corner of your mouth.

“Let's get back to bed, hm?” You don't trust your voice again yet so you just nod and sniffle a bit. As he picks you up again, you feel another wave, a nauseous wave of grief coming down on you. You think he feels it too because he grips you a little tighter. You start crying again.

You return to the mess of pillows and blankets that still cover half the bed. But now he is there with you. His too large frame under the covers next to you, watching with sad, brown eyes as you curl up against him. He pats your hair, leans down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It has been ages.

The small streak of light that falls through a hole in the blankets reflects in his broken watch for a split moment. He looks down at it, the motion so familiar still. And he knows. He knows how you feel.

“Get some rest, babygirl,” he whispers. He'll do right by you. He won't let you go through the things he did. You close your eyes, taking in his smell, his warmth. It feels different now.

It could've been her. It could've been her. Thank god it wasn't her.

You're still in his arms, you're still here, still breathing, chest falling and rising in a semi-steady rhythm. He makes the choice in that moment. Or, he realizes it. He feels like he has made it a long time ago.

He will endure it. He will endure everything if it just takes away a little of your grief, of your pain.

He doesn't need to say it. It's an unspoken truth.

Joel Miller will be there.

[tarysande]

On Grief. And On Friendship. On Memory. And Love.

When my grandmother died, we didn't have a traditional funeral. We didn't wear black. We didn't sit around, solemn and silent. We told stories. We ate food she would have liked and drank Bailey's with cream. We got to do it together, of course, and we got to cry and hug and mourn and laugh and sing.

I'm sure all of us have heard some version of the phrase "online friendships aren't REAL friendships." I know I have. I've never understood it, either. For me, in all my neurodiverse glory, online friendships are often MORE REAL. Where else can you meet people and immediately jump into all the things you have in common? All the shared loves and hates and hyperfixations? Where else can you just bypass small-talk and, as Anne of Green Gables would say, find bosom friends so quickly? I've met so many online.

I honestly don't remember when I met Sara/@dearophelia. When I look through my tags, I know it's been at least seven years. I'm certain it's been longer because she definitely had username changes. And I am total shit at remembering username changes. More than once, I've told myself I should keep a spreadsheet. I'm pretty sure I've known her almost as long as I've been on tumblr, and that's more than a decade.

When Sara got sick, I finally used that tumblr function that notifies you whenever a blog updates. I wasn't around tumblr as regularly, but I didn't want to miss anything Sara might say. I hoped that one day I'd get the notification that everything was clear, she was in remission.

I didn't. Today, I got what will be the final notification from her blog--@vhenadahls sharing the information that Sara passed away. That there wouldn't be anymore updates. No more reblogs. No more snarky comments in the tags or gushing comments in the tags.

If this were a room and everyone who loved Sara, who enjoyed her fanfic (with or without knowing the woman behind it!), who has listened to her playlists, who played ME3 multiplayer with her, who was in any way touched by her in a way that brought their lives joy, it would be so full. We would all have stories to share. We'd all have memories to relive.

This room would be decorated with labradorite and pink and fat birbs and cats. There would be so much music--Taylor Swift and Halsey and Florence and the Machine and Hozier and so many many others. There would be a million fabulous selfies on the walls of Sara's huge smile and her vulnerability and her bravery. There would be gaming knickknacks and D&D dice and tarot decks and crystals and magic and books on every surface. All her faves would be represented. And it would still only brush the surface of how vibrant she was and how deeply and enthusiastically she loved what she loved.

If this were a room where we could also add all the characters she created, whose stories so many of us loved ... well, it would have to be awfully big. Sara wrote a lot of stories for a lot of fandoms.

And if this were a room where we and her characters were gathered, but we opened the doors for all the characters and stories that Sara helped inspire, helped grow, encouraged and enabled, well, I know a whole lot of my characters and stories would be here, too. I'm sure I decided to create Rose Trevelyan because of some conversation Sara and I had where I was imagining Rose Vakarian-Shepard grown up.

Sara, I'm really sorry I didn't get to finish the Vakarian-Shepard stories before you left. Most writers write for themselves, sure, but often they also write for specific readers. Sara was always one of mine, but I don't think she knew it. I lived for her gushing tag-comments. I loved when she was always so quick to jump in with prompts.

I'm honored that I was someone with whom Sara shared her original fic work. (She also once shared an absolutely horrifying scene with Garrus and Shepard's clones that she cut from Nora's story because it was just TOO AWFUL. In fact, she shared it with me BECAUSE IT WAS SO AWFUL and she knew I'd appreciate it.) In my heart of hearts, I wanted Sara to finish that original story and publish it. I wanted us to be part of each other's group of writer-friends (you know, you always see them thanking each other in their books). Hell, I wanted to have a small press at some point just SO I could publish Sara's stories. I believed in her THAT MUCH.

I love Sara's stories. I love her playlists. I love her blog, with its hodgepodge of interests and loves. I love her imagination and creativity and attention to detail. I love that I can still visit that mind by reading the bounty of work she left behind.

I mean, she made me wholeheartedly buy into a relationship between Shepard's mom and ZAEED.

Sara was one of the constants in my online life over the last decade. Even if we hadn't chatted for a while, I always knew we could pick up again like no time had passed (thanks, ADHD). As I write this, there's a little chat circle on the bottom right of my tumblr screen with her avatar in it and I can't bear the thought of hitting that X button and never seeing it pop up again.

Sara struggled and loved and fought and overcame and breathed and was brave. Not just in the past few years, when she was sick. As long as I knew her. And she didn't let anything stop her. She snarled in the face of it all and wrote stories so beautiful they broke my heart and then pieced it back together again in the same paragraph.

I miss her. I will always miss her. But I'm so happy I got to know her as long as I did. She'll live on in my memories, in my stories, in the characters she helped inspire. She'll live on every time I look at my favorite tarot deck--she was the first person I yelled at when I bought it--and when I see fat birbs and cute-maybe-evil cats. And if that's not REAL friendship, real love, I don't know what is.

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

Went through The Forbidden Marriage tag and so many people don't like that the king has been pining for his murdered wife for seven years and want the Guard to win the love triangle instead.

You know, the Guard who has been pining after a woman he didn't even meet for seven years 🤦🏼‍♀️

(and yes, I know it was the female lead, I don't care. He's been looking for her for seven years and he didn't ever meet her. He saw her from the side ONCE. That is just as off-putting as still being in love with your wife, who was murdered! If that's something that off-puts you)

(also pretty clear the King has some complex and unhealthy grief because his wife was murdered, no one believes that, and he wasn't allowed to mourn her properly, not to mention the ongoing psychological torture. It's not like he's just hung up on some woman 🙄)

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for a Fic...

~*~

1. Hi! Me again jsjs, for the next ITMF I need fics where people realize how young WWX still is, like not about how young MXY's body is (but if you have of those even better 'cause I love that idea too) but that he wasn't older than 21/22 when he died and for him he's still barely out of adolescence (considering the last of it he spent fighting instead of properly growing out of it). Bonus points if they realize he's closer in age to the juniors than his brother, his husband or the rest of his generation @jiangclaritybell

Help, My Dad Is Fucking Someone My Age!! by sweetlolixo (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Humor, Crack, Fluff, Romance)

The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide) (link in #11) has a scene where lwy thinking about how young wwx died when he's talking to a young girl.

All Technicalities by DummyDipl0d0cus (M, 4k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Rated M Just To Be Safe, Overprotective JC, Post-Canon)

~*~

2. Hello beloved mods. I'm in the mood for fics where Lan Sizhui, as the eligible bachelor and Best Boy he is, starts receiving marriage requests, while Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are very Parental about it.

A Civil Combpaign Series by Ariaste (T/M, 31k, ZhuiLing, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, the difficulty of arranging your own marriage, overly subtle courting or overly oblivious courtee?, awkward teenagers, Teenage Drama, Humor,companion fic, WWX POV, Feelings, Fluff, WangXian's Weird Flirting)

Lan Sizhui's Got a Crush! by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 46k, LSZ/OFC, Junior Quartet, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Case Fic, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Body Horror, Mild Gore, Post-Canon) is more about lsz and his friends but there is a whole chapter of wangxian trying to give relationship advice

~*~

3. I'm itmf some evil jgy fics who gets what he deserves no redemption arc and obv wangxian get their happy ending but way less trauma jc friendly pls :)

i would like to suggest the 'bad person meng yao' and 'meng yao bashing' tags for some (sadly not all) fics that fit the prompt.

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

To Mourn the Young Man by Iamnotawriter (T, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, Most people live, but not the bad guys, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal)

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm for Lisa_Telramor ( T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mystery, Smart NHS, WWX doesn't stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship) (link in #4) kinda fits?

~*~

4. Hiii!! I'm itmf nhs centric fics I would like it if they are fix it/time travel fix it/fix it of sorts type of fics thank you!!

💖 The Path by Seastar98 (Not rated, 279k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, fix-it of sorts, CQL verse, golden core reveal, angst w/ happy ending, BAMF NHS)

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm for Lisa_Telramor ( T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mystery, Smart NHS, WWX doesn't stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship)

This Time Around by KouriArashi (T, 83k, JGY & NHS, NHS & WWX, JGY & WWX, Time Travel Fix-It, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Politics, Class Issues, Past Child Abuse, Moral Ambiguity, Everybody Lives, Eventual Happy Ending)

Third Sun by PhantomWriter (T, 57k, NHS & NMJ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Crack Treated Seriously, BAMF NHS, Protective NHS, Protective NMJ, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, LWJ is a Wēn)

Unexpected Salvation series by clipper782 (M, 162k, NHS/JGY, time travel fix-it of sorts, past incest, murder, psychology, love/hate, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, crack treated seriously, demonic cultivator NHS)

~*~

5. itmf Wei Wuxian being unused to Mo Xuanyu's body: he stumbles, is shorter than he is used to, isn't used to his strength, etc. Bonus points if there is angst where WWX has panic attacks or disgust about being in someone else's skin. Thank you!

the soft animal by cafecliche (T, 5k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, [PODFIC] the soft animal by flamingwell)

your own heart beating by varnes (G, 1k, wangxian, body dysphoria)

mine? by Anonymous (Not rated, <1k, wangxian, body dysphoria, post-canon)

If only we could never think nor feel by Alianita (M, 1k, wangxian, slight angst, body dysphoria, feels)

unsettled by cryptenhope (G, 1k, wangxian, post-canon, established relationship, body dysphoria, hurt/comfort)

~*~

6. hello! do you know of any 'The Wife is First' AUs for wangxian?? that would be lovely!

~*~

7. Hey! Are there any lwj/wwx/mianmian smut fics? I'm looking for one that i came across but i can't remember any details about it.

Time by WithBroomBefore (M, 30k, WangXianMian, Time Travel, Fix-It, Canonical Character Death - WWX, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, Polyamory, Ghost WWX, for a little bit, Grief/Mourning, Eventual Happy Ending, Trans LWJ, bisexual LWJ, Bisexual WWX, POV Multiple, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death)

winged cupid painted blind by isabilightwood (E, 6k, WangXian, XianMian, Modern AU, and they were ROOMMATES, wwx & lqy are strickly friends with benefits, and lwj & lqy don’t do anything with each other, endgame wangxian, background endgame qingmian, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Accidental Voyeurism, Explicit Consent, Threesome, Fingering, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Getting Together, Light Angst, Fluff, Bottom LWJ)

~*~

8. this is pretty specific but i'm itmf fics that in some way have creative variety in wwx's demonic cultivation powers! i see a lot of standard control-fierce-corpses-and-ghosts type of stuff in fics, but i recently reread the books and there's a moment where wwx gets a skeleton to crawl out of the ground and whisper to him that the juniors were kidnapped (without even using chenqing i think?), and (inspired by that) i'd love to read something where the author just goes ham with the interesting alternative techniques lol.

can be a focus of the fic or just a one-off mention, anything goes! preferably no character bashing or hard nsfw. thank you!

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) along with having a ghost companion, there's also a brief scene where WWX is spotted asking directions from a skeleton's hand that came up from the ground.

The envy of the world by vulnerable_bead (E, 48k, WangXian, Case Fic, Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Canon Compliant, WangXian as teacher(s), WangXian as musicians, Spell-weaving) remember the Power Stunt WWX used in the Yueyang Chang graveyard, where he dramatically punched the ground to dynamite-fish for corpses? vulnerable_bead does: “The boys felt the earth under their feet vibrate slightly, painfully, as if some telluric current had radiated from him, sending a message all the way to the bedrock that a man stronger than the mountains had arrived and he would brook no resistance.“

Re #8 note that The envy of the world does contain hard NSFW sex scenes, although not graphic violence.

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire) (link in #14) WWX works a *lot* of inventive, sustained, and gruesomely detailed blood magic, including long-distance life support and a chilling application of Painted Eyes—and then there’s the climax, wherein he invokes the terrifying power of Higher Mathematics.

blossoms at the roadside by bleuett (T, 13k, wangxian, alternate universe, different first meeting, getting together, tenderness, gardens & gardening, happy ending, hand feeding) Wei ying uses resentful energy to heal plants 💚

all the bonds of nature by luckymarrow (E, 68k, wangxian, MXY & WWX, LWJ & MXY & WWX, modern w/ magic, romantic comedy, roommates to lovers, pining, necromancy, ethical necromancer WWX, music teacher LWJ, fluff & smut, ghosts, urban fantasy, light angst, kink negotiation, praise kink, BDSM, developing relationship, dom LWJ) Wei ying is an ethical necromancer using resentful energy from dead  animals and also putting them to rest.

~*~

9. Hi I love your blog and hope you might help me with finding fic we’re Lan Zhan is the dead one . It can be cannon or non cannon or morden Au just were Wei Ying is the one who has to grieve and care for Lan Yuan . @cfox86

Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami (T, 314k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ dies, Wei Wuxian doesn't die, neither do (most of) the wens, JYL also lives, Original Character(s), outside pov, YLLZ WWX, Canon Divergence, CQL Verse, Illustrated, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual Resurrection, mute LWJ, Hurt LWJ, Slow Burn, canonical death of a child (mentioned), Survivor Guilt, PTSD) is very good I highly recommend it

Turnabout and Start Again by runningondreams (T, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Role Reversal, Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, SuicideI, mprisonment, Violence, Minor Character Death, Mild Gore, Pining, Identity Issues, Getting Together, Happy Ending) I recommend "Turnabout and Start Again" by runningondreams on ao3. unfortunately it hasn't updated since 2020 so I understand if you don't actually recc it. but the 11 chapters is does have are really good!

the passing of seasons by tennssi (G, 12k, WangXian, Character Study, Canon Divergence, Family, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Moving On, Eventual Happy Ending)

~*~

10. Hi! It's me again haha -//- Do you have any recs for long xiyao with a happy ending? I've been reading the top kudos ones on ao3 and consulting Google, but so far not much luck (┬┬﹏┬┬) @thepurplewombat

The Halo You're Wearing, It's Not Yours To Keep by poemwithnorhyme (E, 54k, XiYao, JGY/WX, JGY/WRH, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort)

An Atypical Courtship by KouriArashi (M, 48k, XiYao, WangXian, Romance, Slow Build, Developing Relationship, Prostitution, Class Issues, Light Angst, Political Shenanigans, Asexual Relationship, Asexual LXC, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed)

Last of Our Kind by Shiome (E, 103k, XiYao, Post-Canon Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Temporary Amnesia, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Third Person, Pining, Sexual Content, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Power Bottom MY, Action & Romance)

~*~

11. hello :) thank you for everything you're doing !! for your next im in the mood, i wanted to ask if you know of any canon compliant fic that follows lan wangjis pov throughout all (or even part) of mdzs/cql. thank you so much x

The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide)

The Hospitality of the Qishan Wen by treemaidengeek (T, 14k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV LWJ, Traumatized LWJ, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, WWX is a chaos gremlin, LWJ Has Feelings, Hurt LWJ)

well-met by warlight by wukuiyuxin (Not rated, 2k, wangxian, WIP, Old English Style Poetry, Epic Poetry, [Podfic] well-met by warlight by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart), Tumblr gifset) Lan Wangji’s account of meeting, loving, losing, and mourning Wei Ying and raising A-Yuan—in mock-Norse epic verse / see also #11 on this post.

~*~

12. I need fics in wich Harry Potter somehow ends up in mdzs and with one Character there. Until now Ive only read one with Harry x Sizhui and that one wasn’t updated in a while. Thanks in advance

~*~

13. I‘m in the mood for canon era fics where WangXian are living out some BDSM/BDSM adjacent kinks. Bonus points if there are no lengthy contract discussions or constant asking for safewords. Aftercare highly appreciated.

mercy, tear it down. by orange_crushed (E, 31k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Dual Cultivation, Light BDSM, In Which Wangxian Fumble Towards An Understanding of D/S Dynamics, Porn with Feelings, Recovery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Wangxian-Typical CNC Play, Aftercare, Slight Feminization (ie Wei Ying Keeps Saying 'Wife'), True Love, Past LWJ/Other)

old wounds by BloodRedCarnation (E, 23k, LWJ/MXY/WWX, wangxian, PWP, kink negotiation, age difference, powerdynamics, threesome, established wangxian, both top & bottom sub&dom LWJ, post-canon, fix-it of sorts)

at your feet by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 2k, wangxian, post-canon, sub LWJ, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, hairpulling)

the mortifying ordeal of being loved by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (T, 1k, wangxian, post-canon, established relationship, birthday fluff, praise kink, dom/sub undertones)

Closer than my hands have been by Spodumene (E, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, established relationship, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, consensual non-con, hairpulling, facefucking, bondage, spanking, cock slapping, jealousy, top drop)

i'll be your warmth here by mistergoblin (E, 1k, wangxian, canon divergence, PWP, dom/sub elements, sub & bottom LWJ, orgasm delay/denial, bondage, spanking, happy ending)

~*~

14. IITMF: Post-canon case fics my beloved 🥺

love lies beyond words by acrosticacrumpet (G, 4k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, not a completed reconciliation but the beginning of one, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Self-Worth Issues, painful conversations with a tasteful smidgeon of, Cuddling & Snuggling)

just as the stories say by TheDameJudiWench (T, 11k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Medical Procedures, some gore, brief mention of a farm animal dying, Yunmeng brothers feelings, Family Dynamics, Attempted Murder, Injury Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Established Relationship, brief mention of vomiting, Happy Ending, Found Family, POV Outsider, Guilt, Revenge, Mention of Suicide (not main character), Grief/Mourning, Forgiveness, Whump, Near Death Experiences)

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda?, ?Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)

shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi (E, 24k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Night hunts, Curses, Intimacy, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, shadows in the sunrise: podfic by victorianotte)

JC and WWX's Get Along Sweater series by newamsterdam (T, 29k, JC & WWX, bg wangxian, post-canon, trapped in a closet, cultivation as a plot device, JC & WWX reconciliation, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, emotional tension, ghosts, action/adventure, brotherly love, complicated relationships)

🧡 climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, [Podfic] climbing up that coastal shelf by RevolutionaryJo)

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, ...then sexual intimacy, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

With Absolute Splendor by Lise (T, 43k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Wedding planning, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a happy ending, [Podfic] With Absolute Splendor by kisahawklin, [PODFIC] With Absolute Splendor by Gwogobo)

some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Road trips, rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, [Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin)

the soft animal by cafecliche (T, 5k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, [PODFIC] the soft animal by flamingwell) (link in #5)

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, [Podfic] Grow by jellyfishfire)

Wearing Down Every Bone by CSHfic, VSfic (E, 30k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Time Loop, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Pining, Getting Together, Time Travel, Hurt wwx, Mystery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Depression and Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, gratuitous use of empathy, Wearing Down Every Bone [Podfic] by Rionaa)

The envy of the world by vulnerable_bead (E, 48k, WangXian, Case Fic, Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Canon Compliant, WangXian as teacher(s), WangXian as musicians, Spell-weaving) (link in #8) LWJ and WWX supervise LSZ, LJY, and OC Lan Juniors on a village investigation; poetic fairytale prose; a casefic of unfurling complexity with an intelligent, subtle, and tragic antagonist; mysterious uncharted musical magic; a climactic confrontation that deserves to be animated. And then there’s the famous Windowsill Papapa Scene.

~*~

15. itmf canon compliant/divergent (not modern) politic heavy fics? Court life, politics and diplomacy, secrets and plot twists as people wait to play their hand, etc.

Between the Candle and the Sun by Legume_Shadow (T, 304k, ZhuiYi, WangXian, LingZhen, XiCheng, XuanLi, Angst, Friendship, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, MM is a Badass, WN is a Badass, Protective WQ, Most people live, Ensemble Cast, Action/Adventure) is a Royal AU more focused on plot, including politics, but is primarily a junior-pairings fic (with secondary Wangxian)

~*~

16. In the mood for fics where wangxian adopt another kid(s) post-canon

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

~*~

17. Fics where WWX is actually respected; as a scholar/genius/cultivator. @utxqia

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 528k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, WangXian, NHS & WWX, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh)

~*~

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

[luesmainblog]

for those wondering why i have been mostly quiet regarding israel and palestine: most of the pro-palestine stuff i come across is dismissive of hamas' horrors, blatantly antisemetic in parts, and generally conflates the israeli population with their government. or worse, treats them as a monolith; it is true that there are many israelis mocking the people their soldiers are destroying. it is NOT true that all of israel doesn't care and is just totally cool with what's going on. i will share what i find of israel's atrocities, but i will not make my jewish followers feel unsafe for shit they had nothing to do with. most of the stuff i've seen that *does* acknowledge the horror is jewish bloggers who have spent much of their life advocating for palestine, now having to struggle against antisemetics coming to them, furious that they DARE to be upset at the lost israeli lives. as though they are not allowed to mourn for both sides. as though they are not allowed to be horrified by what has happened; that they can ONLY be worried for palestine and how the attack was the perfect excuse for israel to double down. i refuse to send even more hatred their way by spreading their grief further into the void; you never know Exactly who's following your follower's followers. i am glad, at least, that nobody i follow was outright celebrating. but i know that people WERE, and now they're trying to act like that never happened. so incase this wasn't clear, cheering on the deaths of Israelis does not fucking help palestine.

I am truly disgusted with the blatant racism and colonialism that manifests israel's very core. it is an attempt at a violent ethnostate, intent to not only destroy the people it seeks to replace, but fully erase them from history. i am also disgusted with the way that the left is happy to celebrate genuine terrorism if it's committed "for the right side", as if parading dead bodies and raping people does fucking ANYTHING good. as if that doesn't fuel the israeli government's chances for propoganda. as if it hasn't traumatized your jewish neighbors. there are no fucking winners in war. free palestine and protect your muslim AND jewish friends in this time, they are BOTH getting their shit kicked in by ignorant people who want to take out their anger on some random kid in ohio. we are all posting in anger here. but let's check ourselves before we post; misinformation and antisemitism weakens our voices. Edit for clarity: this post is for my mutuals. I am specifically asking my mutuals to think carefully about what they post; i am aware that i've been too quiet, and i am trying to remedy that. i am also warning my jewish and muslim followers that if you've been using my blog as a safe spot to not think about it for a little bit, you're gonna wanna block the tags below. 'horrible things' will usually do it. i am also venting about how every jew i follow is getting hit with the "die you stupid zionist" shit from coward anons who can't tell the difference between supporting israel and just being fucking concerned for your family over there. it's fucked.

[asimplearchivist]

𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑����𝐈𝐒𝐓

✨ [ 𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ] ✨ ✨ [header credit] | [divider credit] ✨ ✨ Follow @asimplearchive and turn on notifications for updates! ✨

✨ The askbox is now open for questions to Team Relic or Team Sunrise! Inspiration can be found here if needed! ✨

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

(Pokémon Go) Trainer Code: 784714647025

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

For all the lore, worldbuilding, and inspiration for this AU, you can check out my "ao3: in the morning light" tag here and @i-never-forgot! :)

The canon timeline can be found here! It's still a WIP, but most of it is there!

[ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ]

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⤏ [tba]

𝓐 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 | ☾ / ♡ ♢ ♣ / ♔ ♗

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ Eliana Kouros is at the end of her rope. She hopes that the yearly tradition of camping in Eterna Forest's sprawling wilds will help to clear her head, but her life takes another turn beyond anything that she could ever have expected.

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ (light) angst, existential crisis, self-worth issues, (minor) (background) (past) (implied/referenced) character death, (animal/pokemon/pet) death, grief/mourning

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ pre-canon, canon compliant, (some) humor, roommates, botany, wine, drinking, forests, walk in the woods, camping, hiking, insomnia, late at night, lucid dreaming

𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽 | ☼ / ♡ ♧ ♦ ♣ / ♔ ♗ ♖

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ After the events that took place on Vast Ice Mountain, Dialga has released Dusknoir of his duties as his henchman. Dusknoir, in the midst of a self-crisis, is taken under wing by Celebi and Grovyle. Dusknoir finally breaks, and Grovyle reassures him. Dusknoir finds out a couple things about himself that he didn’t know before.

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ near death experience(s), self-worth issues, existential (crisis/angst), self-doubt

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ angst, hurt/comfort, crying

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓟𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷, 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | ☾ / ♡ ♧ ♦ ♣ / ♔ ♗ ♖ ♘

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ With her lost memories finally restored, as well as the realization that she was never truly meant to remain in the past to begin with given the fact that it wasn't her place of origin, Eliana decided to return to the restored future hoping for reunions of the most heartfelt kind. She did not, however, consider precisely what—and who—she would rediscover there…as well as the compounding tension that resolving bad blood undoubtedly brings. Guildmaster Lucario, Grovyle, and Celebi would need all the help they could possibly get to prevent Eliana from eradicating Dusknoir now that he had finally had a permanent change of heart…and maybe—just maybe—they could learn to see eye-to-eye once more.

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ angst (with a happy ending), spoilers (but if you haven't played the game by now you really should), (canon-typical) violence, (attempted) murder, (temporary, implied/referenced, canonical, past) character death, near-death experiences, ptsd, depression, anxiety, nightmares…[more tags to be added]

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ canon compliant, post-canon, alternate universe, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, enemies to friends, post-canon fix-it, (post-)post-game, protectiveness, wish fulfillment, time travel, flashbacks…[more tags to be added]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 ✨ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 ✨ 𝓐 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓕𝓾𝓵𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ✨ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕✨ 𝓐 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓶 𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕 ✨ 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓼𝓽

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 ✨ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈𝐈 ✨ ??? [TBA]

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐓

My rescue team. [Rescue Team]

Half-star IQ. [Rescue Team/Explorers]

A dawning, horrific realization. [Explorers]

Grovyle with cat eyes. [Explorers]

Inexplicable dread. [Explorers] { Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 } (Complete)

The Hero and the Wraith. [Explorers]

First impressions. [Explorers]

POV: You’re turned into a Pokémon. [Explorers]

Trust. [Explorers]

Cuddles and Alternate Lives. [Explorers]

“You fool.” [Explorers]

“‘Sup.” [Explorers] { @sincerely-sofie | @the-present-is-a-gift-au }

Her favorite perch. [Explorers]

Team Relic sketches. [Explorers]

There's only one bed. | Compromise. [Explorers]

An old sketch. [Explorers]

Sadnoir + happy “‘Vee.” | Softnoir. | Deadnoir. | Scared “‘Vee.” | “Fine” “‘Vee.” [Explorers]

Team Sunrise. [Explorers]

Team Relic. [Explorers]

Rest. [Explorers]

Dadnoir versus Momiana. [Explorers] { @fujii-draws }

Eliana and Twig (and Ark). [Explorers] { @sincerely-sofie | @the-present-is-a-gift-au }

The ‘Noir Trio (and Eliana). [Explorers] { @sincerely-sofie | @the-present-is-a-gift-au / @fujii-draws }

Hero/Partner Week ‘24. [Explorers] { Day 1: First Meeting | Day 2: Evolution | Day 3: ??? | Day 4: ??? | Day 5: ??? | Day 6: ??? | Day 7: ??? } /{ @heropartnerweek }

Text Posts. [Explorers / Rescue Team] { Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight }

Eliana and Erida. [Explorers] { @s1nn0hh }

Ignorance. [Explorers] { feat. @fujii-draws / @sincerely-sofie / @s1nn0hh / @azure-shades-of-blue }

NightShade!Shipping Headcanons. [Explorers] { @sincerely-sofie }

Eliana with Alize and Pax. [Explorers] { @aria-the-derg }

Eliana, Lu, Dusk with Ribbons and Aimilios. [Explorers] { @fujii-draws }

Eliana and Dusk with Espeon/Umbreon!Erida. [Explorers] { @s1nn0hh }

Eliana and Lu with Gaia and Salem. [Explorers] { @sunflower-silliness }

Sleepiness. [Explorers] { @sunflower-silliness }

“Far Too Beautiful to Leave Me.” [Explorers]

Dusknoir the Beanbag. (Also Big Duskerals.) [Explorers] { @fujii-draws }

[redstringraven]

Amber & Blood

characters: traximus and nyxram rating: g content warnings: n/a word count: 3061 relevant tags: grief/mourning, post-canon, canon compliant

"Have... you ever done something like this?" When she sends him an inquisitive glance, he continues, "...mourned someone?" Her jaw tightens. He’s seeking companionship. He didn’t want to journey here alone, and he doesn’t want to be alone in grief, either.

---- With the rebellion's success, the New Republic making slow but steady progress toward a better future, Traximus decides it's time to make an important trip. Nyxram accompanies him.

[ read on ao3 ]

She'd always thought the Trebai Archipelago haunting from a distance.

Scattered pieces of what may have once been a small moon drifted just beyond a significantly larger silver planet, its orbit slow and almost lazy. Long, tangled tendrils of grayed plant root and organic matter kept the dozen 'islands' linked in a cluster. The archipelago's origins predated their history; no one quite had answers for how the system had remained 'one' for so long, and even less answers for how its flora continued to thrive even in vacuum. Spots of vibrant gold, red and teal leaves, flowering white plants--even a 'river' that flowed through and between the islands in twisting figure-eights, unbound to soil.

They’d chosen one of the outer islands to land the shuttle, so it’d be a walk to the piece at the center. Ranzar had fussed--insisted he could easily pilot them further in--but Traximus held firm this was the safer decision. Nyxram knows it’s more than that. She hardly minds. The two of them will make the trek while the crew minds the ship.

She casts a final nod over her shoulder to Grax, who salutes her from the shuttle's ramp, before she walks to Traximus's side. They make their way across the rock toward the first of the thick, winding roots that stretches to the next island across. The gravity should be weaker. Even for their large size, they should float, drift, need to watch their surroundings for stray debris. But the gravity here is strange, too. They walk as though they were on a homeworld vessel.

"You've been here before?" Traximus asks, suddenly, as they step onto the root. His voice is clear over her helmet's receiver; clear enough to catch a stiffness in his tone and exhaustion he’d long been trying to hide. It wasn't the focused, but warm, cadence she'd come to know.

"No," Nyxram answers. "But I've seen it."

Traximus grunts, shifting the satchel over his shoulder--the spear in his hand. "It's beautiful."

"Mn."

They continue across the root and step onto the next island.

Nyxram frowns to herself. He's trying to make idle conversation; distract himself. You're not giving him much to work with. "...why here?"

"What?"

"Why this place?" She clarifies. "What made you choose it?"

"Oh." He shrugs, clearing his throat. "He’d mention it when... when we'd discuss fond memories. --during meals. Suppose it's... as good a place as any. He never brought up family."

"But he had memories of the archipelago?"

"--yes. Traveling. Said he came here to think."

Nyxram's brows rose. "Traveling, then. What did he travel for?"

"...I don't know."

"No?"

"--no." There’s frustration in his voice. Then, something more akin to sorrow. "...No, I. I don't know, he... I guess I never asked." A pause. She saw his head turn to her from the corner of her eye. "Have... you ever done something like this?"

When she sends him an inquisitive glance, he continues, "...mourned someone?"

Her jaw tightens. He’s seeking companionship. He didn’t want to journey here alone, and he doesn’t want to be alone in grief, either.

Nyxram turns ahead, allowing her stride to widen. "Watch your step on the next line up,” she says, “these 'roots' are older than some galaxies. Best not to test them."

Behind her, Traximus sighs. They keep forward.

Somewhere above, a meteor flashes by. A wash of white and silver light blooms over the brownstone, sharpening their shadows and striping the ground in liquid patterns cast from the river. There’s no wind here. No sound. It's something ethereal, like walking through a dream. Their only clues of passing time came from subtle changes in the light or the water’s slow, steady flow.

Traximus doesn’t try to initiate conversation again. Neither does she.

They reach the center island. Roots emerge from various cracks in the stone, curling and tangling across its surface until they join to form the tendrils of material that hold the archipelago together. The water stream curves above and down, arcing the length of the island in a translucent halo that dapples it with flecks of light. Most of the archipelago’s plant-life resides here. She wonders if it houses a larger organism at its center. If all the flora binding the archipelago--blanketing its surface--are merely smaller extensions of one.

Nyxram slows her steps, allowing Traximus to move ahead. She follows him to the base of a mass of roots and flowering stems, just beneath the river’s center. Some of the plants stretch up toward it, as though reaching for a chance that stray droplets might land on their petals and leaves. For a moment they stand, silent.

Traximus steps to the mound. He kneels at its foot, setting the spear to his side and sliding the satchel from his shoulder. There's a painstaking care to his movements as he opens it, as though he feared he may cause a large disturbance by just unpacking. It was… odd. Watching him like this.

In their time together, building and operating the rebellion, she'd seen his usual forms of physical expression. Collected, but never afraid to be loud, assertive, or slam a fist to emphasize a point. He held the attention of a room as easily as he breathed, the trust and respect of those who listened even more so. A commander he was, in near every sense of the word. But here he knelt, moved, with great effort to make himself as small and unremarkable as possible. It felt like something she shouldn't be seeing. Nyxram folds her hands at the small of her back, and she turns her eyes elsewhere.

She watches the slow shift of debris beyond the silver planet’s gravitational reach. On the first island, she can see Zuron has wandered out of their shuttle. His smaller form stands beside Grax, and they seem to be talking. She allows herself to wonder what about.

Maybe the make of the archipelago--the driving force keeping the flora alive and the river on its path; that would interest Zuron. Or plans once they’d returned to homeworld; Grax had made passing remarks--mulling over meals he might make for Xi the next time they'd have dinner together. A long overdue night to themselves. She must be eager to have him for more than the time they spent asleep. The rebellion may have succeeded, but the demands of a new beginning were unending, the work never done. Traximus had barely managed to carve out what time he wanted, needed, for this.

“We didn’t have much.” Traximus’s voice comes through her receiver (the silence, perhaps, has become overwhelming). His tone is cautious, measured, and almost… timid? She didn’t quite have the word to describe it. “After… the arena was cleared out, I tried to search our old cells. His cell. ...I don’t know why; I guess I thought… I thought he may have stored something. --left… something I could find and bring here. But there wasn’t much about that life you’d want to hold onto. Nothing… worth the risk of hiding away.”

“Nothing material,” Nyxram said.

Traximus exhales. “...no.” A small pause. “No. …--but. He preferred the spear. It will do.”

Nyxram frowns, and she turns her head to him.

Traximus stood, the spear now in hand, facing the mound. The hand clenching the spear held it well. A trained, even grip. He’d wrapped a vibrant red cloth around the head of the spear just below where metal and wood connected, secured with a thick golden-threaded rope. Hanging from the center tassel was a single ‘drop’ of amber. Even in the limited light, it shone brilliantly.

“Why the spear?” Nyxram asked.

“Distance,” Traximus answered, “resourcefulness, or a make-shift shield. Sometimes a walking aid if something went wrong. …he preferred to out-last than he did to fight.”

Her brow wrinkled. “How is it that he found himself there, then?”

Traximus remains still, not looking at her. There’s anger in his low tone, searing the words when he speaks, “...sometimes, you just need fodder.”

She remains still and quiet as his open hand curls shut. Watches as it shivers by his side, claws biting through the gloves of his suit, and as his shoulders rise with on held breath. He steadies himself and steps forward.

Traximus places the blunt end of the spear against a fracture in the rock. He takes care to wedge it into place without disturbing surrounding roots, the cloth--without jostling the amber drop. Despite his efforts, his movements are stiff. His hands grip the spear tighter than they need to, and he growls--irritated--when the spear's end slips from its place. But he pauses, seems to steady himself a second time, and tries again. It's a delicate line between too gentle and too rough, and he's struggling to find the balance. Again, the blunt end slips. And again he stills before giving it another try.

The spear takes to the rock this time. Once certain it would stand on its own, he steps back and releases one hand. She waits, patient, but he doesn't release the other.

"Do," he breathes, suddenly (and there’s brittleness in his voice; like the slightest misstep in word choice will break it), "do you... know what it's like? Looking up. And realizing the room is... is cheering because you... because someone you..."

"...Traximus--"

"--do you?"

Sharper. But the veil of anger is gone. There's only pain.

"...no." It's a half-truth. Her room had been two. Not a stadium of hundreds. "I don't."

There's a long pause. She hears him exhale, slow and ragged through the receiver. His fingers adjust around the spear's staff. "You... were there that day. Weren't you?"

She's quiet.

"Up there," he continues, "with him."

She remembers.

"...was it a good show?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't know how.

Traximus swallows, a strained sound that their comms shouldn't pick up. "He should have won that day."

Something inside her hardens to steel. Whether he's speaking of Tilus or Zanramon, she can't tell. It worries her.

A silence stretches on. Then, only once his hand pries from the spear and drifts back to his side, does he speak again.

“Is it… daft of me to think we owe so much to him? To the turtles, even--to… --that I would never have…”

Nyxram frowns. “You feel their aid lessens what you’ve accomplished?”

“I let myself become a husk of everything I stood for," he said. "I didn't manage to find my way alone. Not like you.”

“You think I found my way alone?” She's surprised when her voice reveals how much his statement offends her. “Traximus. Just as you didn't emerge from your darkness until you met the turtles, I did not emerge from mine until I saw you throw your sword at Michelangelo's feet. --Should I be ashamed of this?”

Traximus pauses. He sighs, a heavy rush of air against the receiver. “I suppose not.”

He lifts the satchel back over his shoulder and adjusts the strap. Nyxram watches as he turns and starts back the way they came. There’s a new weight in his steps. A wilt in his posture that hadn’t been there before. An impulse strikes her--drives her to do--what? …something.

He's just passed her when she turns the word over on her tongue. It’s almost bitter.

“No.”

“Hm?” Traximus stops, turns his head.

Nyxram flexes her fingers. “The answer to your earlier question: …no. I’ve never mourned anyone.” Then, slowly. “...I was never made to think of it that way. …as ‘mourning’. So, I didn’t.”

He blinks, thrown off, and faces her in full. “How were you made to think?”

“A victory. I got to live.”

“...So did I.”

The words are unaccusatory and soft, not meant to be cruel. But they still sting. Nyxram looks away.

“Do you want to?” He asks.

She turns back, almost startled. Traximus opens one arm toward the mound. There’s a carefulness in his expression; a gentleness that bleeds through harsh lines brought by exhaustion and stress. It makes something deep within her ache.

“...it’s,” she hesitates, “…it’s been dozens of cycles, Traximus. Hundreds.”

“You’re suggesting this sort of thing has a time limit?”

“--no,” she says, perhaps quicker than she’d meant. She felt. …she felt disarmed, suddenly. It wasn’t a feeling she liked. “I mean to say I’ve had my chance.”

“...A time limit,” he repeats.

She growls, turning away again. Traximus huffed. For a moment, she thought the topic dropped. Then he asks again, “...do you want to?”

Nyxram tightens her jaw. She looks to him.

Her hand moves on its own, lifting to the knife strapped between her collar and shoulder. A flick of her thumb, and it comes loose from its sheath and slides like liquid into her palm. She pulls it free in a sweep of her arm (a gesture that would surely cause anyone who recognized her name to hold their breath; Traximus remains at ease). She steps forward to stand before the spear and mound.

The knife rotates in her palm. It catches the light, a glint that had been the last so many had seen. But it’s not the fine edges nor expertly crafted metals that hold her attention. It’s a detail no one would think or know to look for.

Her hands had been shaking that morning. The knife was something she’d grow into, and she hadn’t held it right--not like she’d been trained. Her misplaced fingers left room for blood to fall where it shouldn’t--where her future skin would catch it instead. A small section of handle had been exposed. There was one single, thin, strip of blood that she’d been careful to never wash away after all this time.

It wasn’t amber. Quite the opposite, actually.

Where amber could hold once-living things, a once-living thing had held this.

Again, Nyxram rotates the knife. It takes her a moment, but she finds a place between the roots and rock that will cause the least amount of damage. The knife slides into the coils until she feels them thicken, slowing the blade to a stop. Carefully, she lets it go and steps back.

Traximus moves to stand by her side.

“...what was their name?” When Traximus asks, his tone is just as soft as it had been before.

Nyxram shakes her head. “He never received one.” A pause. “Names are for things able to last, and he wasn't. --their. Words, not… not mine.”

She’s not sure why she felt the need to emphasize that.

Traximus hums. “It seems he has.”

Nyxram glances at him before she can think not to.

“Lasted, I mean,” he clarifies. He clears his throat. “You remember him. You… want to mourn him. That's lasting, isn't it?”

She looks back to the knife.

“...could you give him a name?” Again, the question is careful. He’s unsure if he’s treading where he shouldn’t. “You don’t have to.”

Nyxram can only breathe. It feels as though something in her chest is becoming undone. There’s an old emotion, one she’s never had a name for, clawing its way through her every fiber and bringing with it a sense of vulnerability that should be unforgivable. In standing here, in giving up the knife, in admitting she has someone to mourn at all, she is left bare and exposed. She's confused. Panicked?, even. What so many would give to capture her in even the smallest moment of weakness. But Traximus doesn’t strike.

“Thank you,” he says instead, “for coming out here today. Listening to me, even though... even... when I...”

He trails off, rounds to her other side and returns to the spear. “I’ll… --you know how our schedules are. When there's an opportunity to revisit, I will. You’re welcome to join, but there's no need. It's your decision.”

She watches as he reaches out, smoothing down the cloth’s folds, straightening the amber with a tender pinch of his fingers. He rests his palm on the spear’s head, and he goes still. She waits, half-expecting him to say something else, but he doesn't. He turns with a sigh and starts for the shuttle. Nyxram remains where she stands.

She waits until he’s reached the nearest coil of roots before turning her head to the spear. Her hand lifts as she takes a cautious step forward, and a finger taps the button on her helmet that disables her microphone. She refolds her hands at the small of her back.

She remembers that day. Zanramon summoned her back to the arena (remembers thinking it troublesome, annoying, a waste of her time--what twisted views of those soon to die). She remembers seeing the platform lift the two of them to the surface; Traximus, still large and imposing despite limited nutrition, and how much smaller Tilus had appeared by his side, his head only just reaching Traximus's collar. They'd all thought the only opponents that day would be a pack of starved leapers. She should have known by the creeping smirk on Zanramon's lips that they were wrong.

Was it a good show?

No. And made worse in that it was necessary for her. That only in seeing the knife fall--watching Traximus's face grow ghastly, hearing Zanramon laugh--did her eyes finally open and a cold awareness seep into her marrow. It hadn't just been wrong, it'd been monstrous. Abhorrent. She'd retreated to her quarters that night, shaken, disturbed, and ashamed. For cycles, Traximus had voiced his disagreements and concerns with Zanramon's direction, choices, priorities--only to be brushed aside and belittled, and finally enslaved. It shouldn't have taken that to realize that they'd long crossed a line. To realize, for certain, she wanted nothing to do with the old regime.

“...thank you, Tilus.” The softness in her voice surprises her. “You saw him first. Believed in him before the rest of us thought to listen. That was our mistake... one you should not have paid for.”

She extends a hand but stops just short of the spear’s metal. Her fingers close. She lowers her hand to her side and sighs. “...Rest now.”

“Nyxram?” Traximus’s voice comes through her receiver.

She taps the button for her microphone. “Yes, I’m coming.”

She walks to the roots, eyes focused ahead, and falls into step behind him.

He slows until she walks at his side.

[henrysfox]

While you play with a ship on two friends on twitter they are about to post the official documents showing Taylor's relationship and marriage all with a public poll asking people if they want to see them.

Not only this shit during the pride month but also during one of the most difficult times for Taylor. He can't even grief in peace.

But yes, you ALL keep going with having fun on his skin. He really can't have a single moment of peace.

what do you want me to do about it, anon?

i don't go on twitter. i don't use twitter. i hate that website. i think what twitter did to taylor last year was despicable. that being said, i cannot control what other people do online.

i have nothing to do with someone allegedly posting his marriage certificate online. neither can i control it.

what's more, i don't think you're a real taylor/rwrb fan if you do shit like that. it's awful. if it's actually true, all we can do is report it.

if you actually cared about fact checking, you would see that not only did i publicly express how i keep taylor in my thoughts during this awful time for him, but i have also always been respectful towards him (and nick as well, while we're at it).

also, do you really think that while he's, like you said, during one of the most difficult times for him and in mourning, he's browsing twitter or tumblr of all places? searching his own name and suddenly coming into contact with our taynick jokes that are not even tagged with his actual name? do you really think he goes on ao3 to see if people ship him and nick? think really hard about that, anon.

he said repeatedly that he only downloads instagram to post something and then deletes it. he said that he doesn't go on twitter at all. protecting his peace. you're making him sound like a kid who can't take care of himself, but he's an adult, he can take care of himself. (that is not a comment on people who try to out him again - that's still despicable and disgusting) he has a big support network too, with all his friends and family.

do idk why you're coming here to attack me (and possible other people too? idk i just logged in) "during pride month of all times" on anon, while you could just, you know... not do that. or report people who try to out him, again.

edit: also, in case that wasn't clear - i don't actually think nick and taylor are together. none of us do. we don't actually want them to have an affair and cheat on their partners. it's a joke.

[ficbrish]

ME4: Aftermath Chapter 1

"Rubble" [AO3]

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Tags: Post-Reaper War, Destroy Ending (Mass Effect), Shepard Survives (Mass Effect), Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Colonist (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), Sentinel (Mass Effect), Paragade (Mass Effect), Novel, Slow To Update, POV Alternating, Plot, Established Relationship, Queerplatonic Relationships, Eventual Relationships, Adventure & Romance, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Found Family, Rebuilding, Reunions, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship

[[TW/CW: Grief, alcohol]]

[All Chapters]

Major Kaidan Alenko was familiar, too familiar, with the feeling of cold steel in his hands, but nothing ever froze between his fingers like the plaque he gripped tightly now. It was engraved with the name of his favorite person.

The crew of the Normandy were all used to sad, difficult things. Some of them had even gone through Commander Shepard’s death before.

It would all be okay.

And yet…

They found themselves wishing they were back in recent time, still in the heat of the Reaper War; even with billions being harvested, because that's when seeing her was as simple as turning a corner. When Shepard was around.

It was a stupid, selfish thought.

The Major's team stood behind him, well, most of them... The holes that EDI and Shepard had left behind cratered into vast gulfs and filled with a mess of stinging, burning grief. It was a glue between them that broke them apart. They were anxious about Kaidan losing it again, and a part of himself was too. 

The time had come to add her name to the wall. They’d all agreed it would be good for him; to be the one who... It’s what she would’ve wanted.

To hold her one more time.

Sort of.

Kaidan breathed deeply and shakily as he stepped towards the memorial. All he needed to do was put her to rest above her Cap- her father’s name. Admiral David Anderson—that call had come once they got their comms restored. Anderson and Shepard confirmed dead.

“What does ‘confirmed’ mean? Do they have a body?” he’d asked, bearing down over Liara’s shoulder while gathering himself together after a particularly rough fit. She was plastered to the computer screen by her wall of monitors.

Liara had been more patient with him lately considering the circumstances, but she still shrugged his added weight off her back.

“She’s gone, Kaidan. I’m so sorry.”

“Did they find a body?”

“Kaidan…”

“Did they?!”

“It’s not going to be like the last time,“ Liara stated mechanically, still not meeting his face.

“You don’t know that,” he said, and repeated, “Did they find a body?”

“It wasn’t clear.”

It was enough to give him hope. Shepard was capable of anything.

He felt a bit silly standing there in front of that wall, another funeral with no body to mourn. It was Tali’s idea, people needed to say goodbye to EDI, Anderson, and… and Shepard. Now that the extranet was partially up and the Normandy was space-worthy, it was time to head out again. It was the perfect moment for closure.

But Kaidan wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He hesitated a moment before encrusting her name on the tomb. His expression twisted up with the loss of her, and then—

Oh Goddess! Liara thought.

Kaidan turned around and announced to the crew, “She’s not dead! We’re going to find Shepard,” with a gleeful mania about him.

They all groaned.

Liara let out a half-choke, half-inhale. Then burst into tears and fell into Tali’s arms.

“I’m just so stressed out,” she said to reassure everyone, as if that were better.

Vega wasn't trying to be a dick when he asked, “And you all still think putting him in charge was a good idea?”

“Hey now,” Garrus warned, one hand resting on Tali’s shoulder as she comforted Liara.

“Why is everyone upset?” Kaidan asked, “This is great news!”

Garrus gave Liara a look that said, Go get Chakwas.

Liara understood. She nodded, wiped her eyes, and began to sidle out of their small crowd.

“Hey! No! You’re not going to get Dr. Chakwas. I’m fine,” Kaidan insisted.

The way the old crew could effectively communicate without words still impressed and intimidated everyone else. Traynor looked at the floor, shuffling her feet, and suggested, “I could try to strengthen the comms, you know, once we resupply and do some more minor repairs.”

“Now you’re encouraging him,” Vega reprimanded, crossing his arms.

“I think the Major is right,” Javik stated, glaring at Vega.

“Liara, you’re the one who found her last time, and now you have more resources than ever.”

“Exactly, Kaidan. I have more resources than ever and no news,” she snapped.

His face began to fall. 

A moment of silence followed that had nothing to do with respect for the dead.

After a while, Joker blankly said, “I’ll get the ship ready to go,” and hobbled over to the elevator. 

Traynor left for the bar. Vega and Javik followed her, arguing.

Tali put a hand on Kaidan’s arm, a gentle and pitying gesture.

“You have to be prepared for the worst,” she told him in a kind, but hard, voice.

Kaidan covered her hand with one of his, “I know.”

Garrus nodded at him, Kaidan nodded back. He watched Garrus lead Tali away. 

Liara remained.

“She was my best friend,” she stated.

“I know. You were hers.”

“And you just ruined her memorial service.”

He didn’t respond. 

“And now you’re sending the rest of us on a fruitless search—”

“How can you say that?”

“Joker saw the whole thing explode! This isn’t like the last time. Last time she was ejected into space, not incinerated.”

Kaidan was quiet for a while, then said, “I’m sorry I’ve made this so hard on everyone.”

He stepped heavily into the elevator, cradling that plaque in his hands like it was precious.

Humans were terrible at letting go.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Gasp!

Dying hurt a lot more this time.

Cough—Cough! Gasp! Cough!

Everything was so dark. At least death in space had given her the stars. 

There were no stars here.

And a lot of pain.

Last time had been painful too, but only for a little while. This time it was constant, a steady wave of excruciating sensations that dulled together into a new feeling of normal. It was so bad it even woke her up.

Woke her up?

Shepard tried to open her eyes but couldn’t see. She tried to move.

But couldn’t do that either.

She was alone.

Then that blissful nothingness enveloped her once again. 

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The baby was screaming.

“I want everyone able on this search! Scrounge through the rubble until your hands bleed. We need her found, dead or alive.”

The furious voice boomed and filled the room, even over the wailing child. Wrex had not slept in days, and the baby was screaming in his ear. The war had nothing on its aftermath.

Wrex growled, “A body! You hear me? I want a body!”

The other Krogan feared and respected him too much to argue, but they all thought it was pointless. Days had already passed, and they'd found the body of the former Human councilor on the first. Fear and respect aside, there were females to fertilize and extractions to be made. Earth was less populated now, but the Humans would want it back. They needed terms, not a pile of ashes. They needed their leader to lead.

The baby was screaming.

Wrex threw the little monster in the air and caught it. A peaceful smile replaced the noise. He repeated the gesture again and again, grateful for the momentary quiet, and sunk into his thoughts.

“Have communications been able to reach beyond the Sol system yet?”

“No, sir. At least not from us. But people have been able to get news outside of the system via travelers,” answered one of the Human Alliance soldiers assigned to assist him.

Wrex grunted, which made the human nervous. The baby continued to giggle and squeal as she flew between gravity and her father’s arms. 

It had been almost a week, but Shepard could still be alive. That window was closing more every day, and it was dangerously close to being shut for good. Wrex couldn’t let that happen. If they brought back a body, it wouldn’t be one that had expired after the explosion.

“You saw it Wrex,” Bakara kept insisting when he'd come back at night, “With your own eyes. We all did.”

The sky had lit up.

They’d been losing, and they all knew it. 

Then the sky lit up, and the Citadel began to rain down into the atmosphere. Hell had come to take them all home.

Then—

A pulse of red energy swallowed the world, and the monsters went away.

The Reapers were all gone. 

Just like that, while the ruins of the Citadel still fell in brilliant streaks across the red-blue sky.

The Reapers were gone! The Genophage was cured!—He held his own child in his hands! And everyone was telling him to give up on the person who'd made it all happen. 

His own sister.

Wrex caught the baby one more time, then pounded his free fist on the desk.

“I’m going. Somebody get Bakara, or watch this baby.”

He handed the now-delighted child off to the nearest guard.

“Here, you’re her uncle now. Uncle…?”

“Quash Brax”

“Ugh,” Wrex sighed. “Okay, well, uh, have fun with Uncle Brax, kid.”

Then Wrex stormed out of the room.

Why did he always have to do every damn thing himself?

Except when Shepard was around. She never let him work alone.

“And somebody feed those fucking cats while I’m out!” Wrex roared as he barreled through the city’s ruins.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Kaidan could still smell her on the bed, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that was gone too. He was lying on it now, looking up at the stars like they did in those last weeks together.

“I get the same feeling when I look at you, you know?” Kaidan had said then.

Shepard smiled and squeezed his hand, “I always wanted to show you this.”

It had been one of the first times they’d spent just lying there on their backs and watching the stars from her bed.

“If I wasn’t such an ass, you could’ve shown me sooner,” he responded.

She laughed at him the way she did when she thought he was being ridiculous.

“You weren’t being an ass, Kaidan. You were being realistic, and I needed that.”

“Heh, was still a bit of an ass, though.”

They could have had one more year together.

There was a knock, and the doors slid open.

“Sorry, automatic,” Liara shrugged apologetically.

Kaidan patted the spot on the bed next to him. Liara took his invitation and joined him. He held out an arm, and she sidled up to his side.

“You need to sleep,” she said, yawning and resting her heavy head on his chest.

“Yeah, well…”

“Yeah,” Liara agreed.

Kaidan sighed, “I’ve been getting on everyone’s nerves, haven’t I?”

“Especially mine,” she joked, and it made him smirk.

“Thank you for, for everything,” Kaidan said, feeling his face turn hot. Twice she had seen him completely surrender to loss. She’d witnessed his wailing. She'd held together while he fell apart; only once joining in his lament, that night as they flew away. 

“You were there for me after Benezia. And after Thessia… It’s what friends do.” Liara said.

He squeezed her shoulder, pressing her against him. Somehow, slowly, they’d become each other’s family.

“But with Benezia, I wasn’t hurting too,” he added, “And Thessia was devastating, but it wasn’t my planet.”

Liara shrugged, “I’ll be fine, Kaidan, “Do not worry about me.”

“Do you remember that last fight?”

Liara tensed up. Kaidan kept talking about everything she just wanted to forget.

“What about it?” she asked.

“I just really thought that was gonna be it. Shepard had that fear in her voice I’d never heard. We all did, and we all kept going—Well, they kept coming. And I kept losing sight of you and Shepard, but you were both right there. I know I won’t shut up about it, I’m sorry, but I never had any siblings and… I’ve just never felt as close to anyone as I have with you and her. I got through all that because we were a team. Now I’m getting through this, I think, I don’t know... But I’m only able to stay together because—”

“We’re a team,” Liara finished for him, and patted his hand. He nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Kaidan. Everyone’s been getting on everyone’s nerves,” she said kindly after a bit.

“I feel like we should do something about that, don’t you?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Get everyone together in one room? Air it out? Do something fun together?”

“I have no energy for that," Liara sighed, "but it sounds necessary.”

“I just don’t want it all to fall apart like the last time she—,” he stopped.

“I know, me neither,” she agreed tiredly and yawned, “So Alenko, what do you have in mind?”

The two friends began planning how to null the Normandy’s growing chasm, their eyes lazily tracing the stars as they passed by above them.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

It was an awkwardly wide chasm. What had erupted into a stir-crazy, spiraling rash once they’d gotten back into space began with a restless itch inside them all from being trapped in the unknown on some random planet.

They’d landed on fucking Pragia. That haunted, overflowing jungle planet.

“I’ve been here before,” Tali said on their second stuck day, “It’s fucking Pragia.”

What Cerberus had done there to biotic children made Brain Camp look like a nurturing environment. Thankfully, they seemed to be nowhere near that facility, or what was left of it.

Ghosts weren’t a problem. The vegetation was.

“This is bullshit,” Vega complained, unloading a round of ammo into a patch of vines woven thickly around the Normandy. Kaidan had commanded them to work in groups; food, water, repairs, plants. Vega and Cortez were on vine duty again. They grew back with madness every few hours.

“I know,” Cortez agreed, panting. The humidity turned the suppression of their rifles' recoil into a real fight, “These vines are as aggressive as Turian Twinks during Pride.”

“Huh?”

Cortez sighed, “Nothing.”

The day they'd crash-landed was indescribable. It took only a few moments to turn everything hopeless. Months of scrounging to save the entire galaxy parred down to overwhelming seconds of FUBAR. It was agony, and then it was over.

Just like that.

Most of them were alive; some didn’t make it.

But most of them were alive. The galaxy was going to continue.

There wasn’t room for much else other than deep relief, but loss was so damn loud.

The second day was just as surreal but structured too. Kaidan had limped out of the Med-bay to address everyone. He looked rough, but spoke kindly and with consideration. They'd all agreed without words to put him in charge.

“I know you’re all eager to get back in the sky, but we have to do this right instead of fast,” Major Alenko told them.

Kaidan knew what it meant to be led by a monster—Vyrnnus, and a legend—Shepard. He was sure he could at least accomplish middle ground. It was the same thing he'd told himself when commanding his biotic squad.

He’d expected to hear opposition, but no one made a sound. They were all looking to him the way they’d looked to her.

“We have fuel, but not much,” Kaidan went on explaining, “Communications are still silent, so we don’t know what’s waiting for us up there. If we rush, and there’s no active fuel stations—Well… So, we have to wait until we know for sure.”

Everyone just looked at him, waiting for more. Kaidan didn’t know what else to give them other than blind hope.

“We’ve got this. We’re Shepard’s—We’re the crew of the Normandy.”

And, oh god, there it was: Pity.

“First things first,” Kaidan continued in a lighter tone, “We’ve gotta do something about those fucking vines before they trap us here forever.”

The windows had grown thick with them overnight.

“What about the engine?” Tali asked.

“That too,” Kaidan said, “It needs some repairs. Luckily, they’re minor. By the time we get in touch with anyone, we’ll probably be good to go.”

“What if there’s no one out there?” asked a faceless voice in the crowd.

People parted and revealed a member of the crew, Hiverson. They’d picked him up sometime towards the end. He'd only been there for the assault on the Cerberus base and battle for Earth. The Normandy wasn’t his sanctuary; home was far away. His face was pale brown, and afraid.

“They’re out there,” Kaidan said stubbornly.

Hiverson didn’t nod his head. The crowd, still strangers to him, swallowed up the staring crewman. His concern hung in the air.

They had to be out there.

“Any more questions?” the Major asked with a clap of his hands.

“No?” Kaidan repeated after more expectant staring, “Okay! Then let’s get into groups. Tali and Garrus, I want you on the engine with Joker. Help out Adams, Gabby, and Ken. Liara, you work with Traynor and try to get a signal. Vega, Javik, and Cortez, I want you to find a water source. Chakwas, come with me. Maybe we can find something edible to lessen the pressure on our stores. The rest of you, grab a gun and clear these vines before they cover every inch.”

Everyone took part, and everyone rotated roles—except for Tali and Garrus. It became apparent by the fourth day that they were only ever on repairs. Truth was, Kaidan was afraid to risk his dextro-amino friends on a world made for levo-amino life. They were cut off from the galaxy. If anything happened to them here… but he wouldn’t let it. The food and medicine remaining for them was another story though, and out of his control. The Normandy's dextro-supplies hadn't been restocked before the last battle.

They had to get out of here.

“Hey, L2!” Vega called out when he saw Kaidan coming back from the jungle, “How about you go get your pals to give us a break?”

It was Anderson who taught him that poking fun at command was a good thing. It built trust, and relieved tension. Annoying each other could be a beneficial type of play. Let them have fun and they’ll listen. Even after that whole incident when… with her visit. Just let it happen, Anderson had advised him. Be in charge, but be a person.

Vega could call him “L2” all he wanted. At least for now.

“Because my pals are already working on another very important task,” the Major answered.

“Yeah, but Adams has already been out here with Gabby and Ken.”

“Watch it, Meathead,” Cortez warned, “the Major might start to think you’re questioning his orders.”

“Question away,” Kaidan said, “There’s no reason to keep anyone in the dark concerning my decisions. Especially now. That being said, you want a break? I can take over.”

“That would be great!” Vega said, joyfully shoving his gun over to Kaidan and walking briskly towards the ship’s entrance. Traynor ran into him on her way out.

“So sorry!” she apologized as she continued her mad dash over to Kaidan and Cortez.

Traynor was out of breath when she reached them, but spoke anyway. “Major! Liara—go!" she panted, hands on her knees, "A message!”

Kaidan took off at a run, bumping into Vega on his way in.

Oh god, was the elevator always this slow?!

He bolted from its doors as they opened to the crew’s quarters, and flew over to Liara’s cabin.

“Do we have a connection?” he asked desperately, bursting inside.

Liara nodded.

“There’s a message,” she said. But something was wrong. There was no enthusiasm.

He joined her side to stare at the screen.

Reaper forces defeated. Citadel moved to Earth and destroyed. Council safe. Captain Anderson and Commander Shepard confirmed dead.

The message was signed by Admiral Hackett, broadcast out into the vastness of known space to anyone who could receive it.

“Comms are back online,” Liara stated dryly.

That’s when Kaidan lost it. He stopped breathing when he read those words, and it returned in violent shudders.

Liara shut the door, and a sound like a wounded animal crept along the Normandy’s walls. She spared him from being seen, but they’d all heard their commander break.

So, Tali thought it would be a good idea to have a memorial service.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Could somebody turn the lights down, please? They’re too bright.

She saw white and red before she was aware of anything else. Snow and blood.

“Shepard?”

A voice like roasted gravel.

Her throat was dry-locked, so she couldn’t get the question out.

Is this death?

A rough, hot hand pressed her arm.

“Take it easy, now.”

She closed her eyes and opened them again.

The sight before her was so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Kaidan’s hope was infectious, a pathogen born out of refusal, not fact. Joker was doing his best to not let it grate on his nerves. 

Their fragile friendship had started to mend over the war but frayed again after the funeral. It was almost like the last time Shepard died, but with no one to blame. Over the past few days, they’d gone from brothers-in-loss to colleagues who tolerated each other.

Joker’s own hopes refused to shut up when Kaidan’s were so loud. It was cruel. They were never going to get them back, and they both needed to accept that.

Kaidan got in the way.

“What are you doing in here?” Her voice startled Joker from his thoughts.

She caught him over by the fried blue box again, with the body laid out respectfully underneath. She found him standing around here a lot lately.

“Jesus, Traynor. You scared me.”

“Sorry," she quipped, smirking shyly and looking at her feet, "I didn’t know I was scary.” 

“Yeah, well…”

Traynor nodded. Joker looked away.

Déjà vu, they’d done this before. A few times now. One would run into the other whenever they came by here.

Liara's smooth voice suddenly came over the loudspeaker, “Normandy crew to the bar. Port Observatory, toodle sweetie to the lounge!” Something in her tone was playful.

Then it was distant, small, and matter of fact. “The what? I don’t understand… I said tooth sweet. No, I’m not still—” rang her voice through every room.

“Oh, great. What are they doing on my intercom?” Joker asked frustratedly, masking his relief at the interruption. He let Traynor exit first.

He took one last look after she left, then tried to sneak his way back to the helm but was intercepted by Vega at the elevator.

“You’re coming with me, sad boy,” he said, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around.

“Easy! It’s like you’re a yeti and you’re trying to maul me,” he chastised as Vega guided him, captive, towards the Port Observatory.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Joker rolled his eyes.

Everyone else seemed to spill into the room behind them.

Liara and Kaidan were already behind the bar, mixing drinks. The way they were smiling and joking was, frankly, a little scary. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Kaidan started, “My lovely blue friend and I realized something. In all the commotion and stress, we, ah, never really celebrated our victory.”

“We thought it would be good for us all to get together and share a drink,” Liara said.

“Or a few drinks, and clear the air,” Kaidan continued.

“Like a party?” Tali excitedly asked.

“Yes!” Kaidan said a little too loudly, pointing at her with the bottle in his hand, “Exactly like a party!”

“It’s like survivor’s guilt, but fun!” Liara added.

Kaidan entered something on his omni-tool and music started playing. A deep, electronic beat thrummed through the room.

Joker didn’t like the unhinged, unblinking look in both their eyes.

“I’m in!” Garrus exclaimed, and Tali stood on her toes to give him a high-five.

Cortez walked up to the bar and picked up two drinks, “¿Qué dices, Vega?”

“Wait!" Liara shouted, holding up two others, "Those are for Garrus and Tali, take these.”

They all crowded around the bar until each had a glass. Then they looked to Kaidan.

He nodded at the group and said, “To us, and to… to our girls. EDI and Essie.”

As one, they raised their glasses and drank deeply. It was going to be a long night, but at least there was alcohol.

Suddenly, Traynor threw her top off and stood there in her bra. Everyone turned to her, astounded.

“What?" she asked the room. "It was going to happen anyway. Might as well while I can still remember it.”

“No fair!” Tali whined, desperate to join in.

“If she’s doing it, I’m doing it,” Cortez announced, halfway free of his shirt already.

“That’s why I don’t mess with buttons," Vega undressed a lot faster than Cortez, "Takes too long.” His sleeveless undershirt flew to the other side of the room.

“Double no fair!”

Garrus draped his arms around Tali to comfort her.

Joker actually chuckled as he walked back over to the bar.

“I saw that,” Kaidan said, taking Joker’s glass to refill it.

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” he said with a weak smirk.

“Love you too, Joker.”

“You can’t use the L-word unless you’re really serious about us,” Joker quipped, grinning.

Dammit.

Joker was planning to sulk, but there was Kaidan getting in the way again.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Shepard blinked. The pain was different now.

She was lying down on something soft.

It was still way too bright.

Before Shepard was aware of anything, her vision began to clear. Something large and alive was there with her, wherever she was. 

She closed her eyes and opened them again.

“Wrex?!”

“Shepard!”

“Wrex!”

“Shepard!” he shouted again, jumping up and clapping his hands against his head, “Grunt! Get in here!”

The younger Krogan slammed through the door, making it burst off its hinges. The surprised screams from the hospital staff could be heard through the walls.

“Shepard!

“Grunt!”

“Shepard!” Wrex called again.

“Wrex!” she cried out.

“Shepaaard!” Grunt grumbled.

“Grunt!”

It went on for a while like that, even after they started embracing and crying.

She'd made it! They'd made i—

“Oh, fuck! She passed out!” Wrex called out, “Nurse!”

“Nuuurse!” Grunt shouted, barreling out of the room. The door hit the floor with a loud smack.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

“Luckily she’s the fastest ship in the galaxy, but we’ve never been without relays before. All our ships were built with them in mind,” Joker explained, slurring very slightly.

Javik chuckled, “So were ours.”

“Presumably, so was everyone’s,” Liara added.

The three of them were sitting off to the side while everyone else was gathered around the poker table. These days, having been stuck and then coming back from nowhere, it was rarely without a crowd. Chakwas and Adams had even come over to join the game.

“I’ve got you now, Vakarian!” Vega exclaimed.

Liara could see Garrus glaring without even turning her head. Maybe it was the effect of her fourth drink, but she smirked.

“Is it harder without the robot?” Javik asked.

Joker sighed. His eyes moistened.

“Yeah, it’s been really hard. Thanks for asking.”

“I meant the navigation,” Javik corrected blankly.

Joker stared back.

Liara couldn’t help but laugh a little, and Joker joined in.

“What?” Javik asked.

Liara and Joker laughed a bit harder.

“You smug prick fuck!” Traynor shouted, startling them.

Kaidan had just won another round. “Your hatred only feeds me,” he chuckled proudly, gathering the pile of chips on the table into his arms.

Joker answered Javik’s original question, “Thanks to that firecracker over there, it hasn’t been as rough to navigate as it should be. She’s crazy, but she’s a genius.”

Liara took another sip and said, “That’s because all women are crazy to you, Joker. Non-Humans too!"

“What can I say?” he shrugged, “I’m a man, a Human man at that!”

Vega called over to them from the table, “What’s he saying over there about Human men? Joker giving us all a bad name?”

“Being fair,” Adams said, “Human men give us all a bad name every day.”

“Ouch! I happen to like Human men,” Cortez replied.

“Yeah, you do!” Vega said, holding up his hand for a high-five that Traynor met with a loud slap.

“Joker was just being a bigot, nothing new,” Liara informed the group.

They all groaned.

“I might have to meet you outside after school,” Tali warned, an obvious smirk in her masked expression.

“That’s right, everyone pick on the guy who can’t hit back without breaking something,” he said.

“Come on, Joker. What did you say this time?” Kaidan prodded.

Liara saw a certain expression darken Joker’s face. She turned to Kaidan and gave him a look from across the room that told him to back off. She saw him nod in acknowledgment.

“Joker thinks all non-Humans and women are crazy,” Javik stated.

“Might someone remind Mr. Moreau that his doctor is a woman?” Chakwas asked.

“I wasn’t serious,” Joker said defensively, “It’s in the name. Never listen to me.”

Liara smiled and leaned back in her seat. There hadn’t been banter on the Normandy like this since… 

And it was nice. 

It made her think of the party Shepard had on the Citadel, and suddenly she really missed Wrex. She hadn’t thought about him since they'd left Earth. Where was he now? She hoped he was okay.

The game finished with Tali sneaking up from behind and wiping everyone out. Unlike the party Shepard just had a few weeks ago, everyone decided to go to bed before they got through about a bottle each. They all cleared out after, leaving Liara and Kaidan behind to clean. The gathering had been their idea, plus biotics made the job easier and quicker.

“I’d say that was a success,” Kaidan stated, satisfied.

“I just hope it lasts for a while,” Liara added, floating the dirty glasses left lying around and placing them on the bar. Kaidan then cycled them through the automatic washer.

“Yeah," he agreed darkly, "I, uh, wouldn't want things to go back the way they just were." 

They continued in silence for a while, then he said, “I just wish she were here.”

Liara stopped what she was doing.

“I know,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was breaking, “I don’t want to drag us down.”

She sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaidan, you’re okay. Just be sad if you’re sad.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” she added. He looked up at her and smiled weakly. His eyes were red.

She wanted to comfort her friend. “We’re going to find her,” Liara said, taking his hand, “I promise.”

She didn’t know if she was lying, or if she actually believed it.

Fuck you, Kaidan. Liara thought, You were right.

It felt better to hope.

[Next Chapter]

[All Chapters]

[keicordelle]

Return to Ferndale

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: T Pairing: Estimeric Word Count: 4.5k Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Anxiety, Grief/Mourning, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, POV First Person, POV Aymeric de Borel

Summary: Estinien is not given to anxiety, which makes it all the more concerning when he can suddenly hardly bear to hold Aymeric's gaze over dinner, let alone maintain a conversation. It's only after Aymeric agrees to join him on an unspecified journey that he learns the reason behind his nerves: it's the 25th anniversary of the destruction of Ferndale, and the deaths of Estinien's family with it. Together, they make their way to the ruins of the Azure Dragoon's childhood to offer their respects - and perhaps request their blessing.

-

Estinien wrung his hands for the eighth time since we'd sat down to dinner (I'd been counting), his stuffed highland cabbage scattered about his plate but largely uneaten. I tried to channel as much warmth and compassion into my gaze as I could when his eyes flicked up from his plate, which he'd been staring at as if it held all the answers of the universe, but he lowered them again as soon as they met mine.

Resolved to grant him however much time he needed to voice whatever was bothering him, I took another bite from my own plate, though the rich flavors of tomato and meat were ashen on my tongue. I watched him through my lashes as he opened his mouth and promptly closed it again, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. His poor mouth was red from his nervous chewing, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss the worried look off his face, but I got the sense this was something he needed to overcome on his own. It was most unusual to see him this anxious; it must be something important. No matter how much I wished to give voice to the pit of dread that grew in my stomach with each glance at me and away, I maintained my composure, supping as if nothing were amiss. And if perhaps my back was a touch overly straight and my manners more akin to a dinner between dignitaries than a common repast with my beloved, I was at least fairly certain he wouldn't notice, entrenched as he was in his own worry. Every time my mind attempted to conjecture about what might hold his tongue, I staunchly refused to grant it leave to do so. It would not do to worry myself further over untold possibilities. Besides, Estinien loved me. I was confident in that, and so long as that was true, there was nothing we could not face. Nothing.

It took two more false starts and stuffed cabbage exchanged for the requisite after-dinner tea before he finally managed to speak. "I have to leave the city for a few days," he said. I set down my cup to grant him my full attention, and his eyes skittered around the room rather than land on me. He paused long enough that I opened my mouth to comment, though I wasn't quite sure yet what I was going to say, but he continued before I could. "I'd like you to come with me. If you wish to, that is. And if you can get away. If not, I understand."

This was not some simple patrol about Coerthas that he was proposing, that much was clear, and if he would go so far as to ask me to accompany him when he knew how difficult it was for me to leave the city, then with the Fury as my witness, I would move mountains to be there for him. "I would like that very much," I said, and he let out a breath, looking right at me for the first time tonight. His relief was so palpable it hurt, but his knee still bounced, and the knuckles of his right hand were still white from the tightness of the grip he had on his wrist.

"You're certain you'll be able to take the time off? It should only be a handful of days. A week at most. But I know..."

I laid a hand on his shoulder, the muscle quivering with tension beneath my touch. "I am certain. When will we be leaving?"

-

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[gravitywonagain]

“Nobody asked about my writing” meme

thank you for tagging me @amethyst-noir <3 you're wonderful

i'm not sure i did this right; i'm working on too many things at once...... so i picked a few :D

 1: what are you currently working on? 

umm... several things. if we're going to stick to the immediate and not look at my entire wip folder, currently i'm working on finishing wagbfm, an external porny wagbfm oneshot ch, and a fic with the working title "under streetlights" as my main fan projects.

but then also, because i hate myself or something, i have (oh god) two (2) original projects that i'm building. the first shares a universe (or at least a magic system) with a fanfic that i'm not allowed to touch until i finish wagbfm because it will be a similar undertaking in length and world building, and it has the working title "desert mirage". the second doesn't quite have a plot yet, but i've been spending a not insignificant amount of effort developing the magic system for it from scratch (must be masochism), and its working title is "rebel yell".

2: summarize your current project 

which one? okay, i'll do the fics here and the original ones next.

wagbfm (taken directly from ao3): Wei Wuxian died and Yiling Laozu rose in his place. He has avoided the Triad societies he grew up around, maintaining his anonymity and forging a new cultivation path. Now, thirteen years later, Hanguang-jun walks into Demon-Subdue Hall and requests Yiling Laozu's services for GusuLan Triad. Something is stirring in the world. Something that necessitates his return to a life and to people he’s long since mourned as lost to him.

"under streetlights" (significantly less polished): 13 years after the car accident that took Wei Ying's life, Lan Zhan has fled the memories and grief that haunt him in San Francisco, only to find himself making a strangely compelling connection on Grindr in Florida.

3: summarize your current project poorly 

"desert mirage": Girl magically decapitates herself only to find out that it's not even her own head.

"rebel yell": In the world of genetic magic users, the one-armed whistler with perfect pitch is king.

4: describe your favorite character or characters

i think almost every character from mdzs could fill this list. plus several from my many other fandoms (looking at you, asami sato). but this seems aimed at ocs or other characters i haven't already spent time dissecting on this blog so...

meet calliope burns: she has two love interests, one arm, and zero fucks left. her default mode is research spiral. her glasses are always dirty. and she once threw her cheap-as-they-come prosthetic arm across a room because her roommate would not stop punning at her.

(also, worry not, i don't do love triangles unless the triangle gets closed... with polyamory, in case that wasn't clear.)

5: post a line from your current project without any context 

“You’re dead,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying feels glass splintering around his temple.

6: how do you get through writers block?

patience? or, more accurately, distraction. i have no cure for it. i mostly just wait it out by doing other things. sometimes that becomes very difficult and aggravating, but i have not yet found another solution. sometimes making playlists helps?

7: would you want to live in the world of your current work? 

hell no. i do not write fun places to live; i write interesting places to live. and as we have all discovered by now, interesting is exhausting.

8: briefly discuss your outlining process, if you outline 

um... sporadic? it tends to start as a vague idea in a note on my phone. then when i've added enough to that note, it gets a onenote. on the onenote i collect a lot of larger character and world building things, in addition to figuring out the plot. the plot gets a bullet list with an associated timeline. then when the prose starts, it gets a google doc. from there the prose and the bullet list inform each other back and forth until i get something coherent out of them both. which is to say, mostly it's pretty freeform.

9: what is the aesthetic of your current project?

wagbfm: a darker chinese version of Romeo + Juliet (1996, dir. Baz Luhrmann)

"under streetlights": cigarette smoke and that fever dream feeling that accompanies yellowed, peeling motel wallpaper, but in, like, pretty sunset colors

"desert mirage": american southwest cow skull art

"rebel yell": 1980's punk scene meets 1950's technology meets 1910’s human rights violations and eugenics… plus magic!

10: what song sums up your current work the best?

wagbfm: the title is based on a lyric from "Seven Nation Army" by The White Stripes, but i think the song that gets at the heart of it might actually be "Freak" by Sub Urban

"under streetlights": the fic is inspired by "3 Nights" by Dominic Fike, but the song that it most resembles is actually "Hurting on Purpose" by Whethan

"desert mirage": "Black Magic" by Magic Wands but also "Corazón Espinado (feat. Maná)" by Santana... it's complicated

"rebel yell": "It's a good day (to fight the system)" by Shungudzo though the working title is obviously taken from "Rebel Yell" by Billy Idol

Tagging: @dovebeast, @epistemologys, @jasontoddiefor, @eldritchjackalope, @iamwestiec if you feel like it, and really anyone who wants to play!

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

if i die young – STRANGER THINGS

Summary: It's done. Vecna has won the battle and everything will be changed from now on. But the Hawkins gang takes a moment for themselves, to mourn the fallen.

Warnings: major spoiler for ST4 V2, major character death, depiction of throwing up and panic attacks, discussions on death and grief, funeral scene, Steve Harrington centric, subtle Steddie

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Since the finale, I knew something was missing, so I had to write this for those that, like me, needed a moment to mourn what happened. A huge thanks goes to @hellotvshowtrash and @orangevelvete for their feedback on this part. You're angels, and I love you so much! Enjoy <3

Tags: @hellotvshowtrash @yn-ymn-yln @auroracalisto

Part 1 - Part 2

The last few drops of sunlight were barely making it through the messy branches of the woods as the group slowly made its way through the bushes, flashlights already on to avoid any roots or snakes. Steve was leading the way, the path to Skull Rock so clear in his head, the name more appropriate than ever.

He turned around, giving a quick glance to Dustin as he limped on the moss and dirt, his arm around Lucas' shoulders, who could barely see where he was going through his black eye and the tears. The plaster cast still smelled of hospital, hitting everything that couldn't move out of its way, and yet Dustin wasn't letting out a single sound. No one was. Only the crunches of dead leaves under their feet and the occasional cry of a distant owl could be heard in the forest.

Just behind them, Erica was holding another torch, her head hanging low for the first time since he had met her, lighting the way for Nancy and Robin. Their hands were already full, gripping a makeshift stretcher and the body on it. Steve turned around just before his eyes dared to rest on the plastic sheet covering it.

We’re almost there, he wanted to say. Anything to break the silence pounding in his ears, the stillness a herald of Death. A few more minutes and then… Steve shook his head, passing a hand on his face. His fingers dug clear paths through the dirt and blood still stuck on his face, paths that his tears should’ve left hours before.

“There it is.”

Robin’s voice brought him back to reality and at the foot of Skull Rock. When he raised his gaze, he felt the empty orbits of the boulder staring right into his mind. Judging him. Blaming him. He lowered his head, clenching his jaw.

Steve turned his head towards Nancy. She was looking at the skull as well, her watery eyes facing it, piercing through the stone, almost daring it to come alive and threaten her. There was no guilt in her eyes, only fierce and boiling anger.

“We should hurry up,” Nancy said, her gaze darting around the small opening. “It’s getting dark much quicker than I thought.” Silence fell once again, leaving an ominous menace hanging in the air: the shadows cannot be trusted.

“Steve?”

He nodded, moving the beam from his flashlight in circles to the left side of the rock. "Right this way."

It took them a few last, deafening steps to reach the site, a small patch of land between two trees and hidden by bushes, where a six feet hole was looking at them, darker than the jaws of a Demogorgon.

A pile of dirt stood next to it with a shovel on top. Steve took it, the blisters on his hands from the digging before sending shots of pain along his arm, and quickly moved to the side as Nancy and Robin moved closer to the grave.

Without sharing a word, the two of them put the stretcher on the ground. Then Robin took two strings of rope from her bag and they managed to pass and secure them under the stretcher and to the body.

As they worked, Lucas helped Dustin sit down against a tree. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his face was broken by pain and exhaustion. Lucas sat next to him, placing his arm around Dustin's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. One second later, they both were shaking in sobs and tears were rolling down Lucas' cheeks.

Steve wished he could do something that could make their pain disappear, utter a magic word that would heal their wound and bring them peace, but he simply couldn't. There's no peace in losing someone you love.

Nancy was still showing Robin how to properly knot the ropes when Erica stormed off with the flashlight, leaving the two of them completely in the dark. Not even a moment later, Steve handed the shovel and his torch to Robin and followed Erica back to Skull Rock.

Without any source of light, he almost tripped two times on protruding roots, slipped on some unidentified slimy thing and got hit in the face by a couple of thin branches. Luckily, he soon reached Erica and the halo her flashlight spreaded around her.

However, he stopped a couple of steps away from her. The torch had fallen to the ground, casting her shadow against the rock. She was bent over, throwing up, her arms clenched around her stomach. The sound of her gagging was haunting, as if demons were trying to escape from her soul.

After another second, Steve was by her side. Holding her hand and keeping her up, slowly caressing her back, putting loose strands of hair behind her ear, whatever she needed.

It took another minute for everything to be done. With one arm still around her stomach, Erica wiped her mouth with her pink sleeve before wiping her wet cheeks as well.

“I didn’t need your help,” she mumbled, piercing Steve with a furious gaze.

“I know,” Steve sighed, bending down to get the flashlight. He dusted off the dirt and a couple of pine needles stuck on it before securing it to his belt. "You alright?"

Fucking. Moron.

Erica raised her eyebrows. "Am I… alright?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Am I alright?! I dunno, you tell me! The Upside-Down has breached into Hawkins, Max is barely alive, my brother is the ghost of himself, we're about to attend the secret funeral of his DM and here I am, puking and crying like a stupid teenager for a dude I barely-"

A sob broke her tide of words. She covered her mouth, trying to shut her crying, but tears spilled uncontrollably from her eyes.

Steve moved slowly towards Erica as he would approach a wounded and furious cat. But when he carefully wrapped his arms around her, the girl immediately dove into the hug, holding onto his waist and clothes like a sailor lost at sea, lugs half-filled with seawater, holding onto a rock during a storm.

Steve hugged her tightly, one hand resting on the back of her head and the other steadily and gently rubbing her shaking back.

They stayed like that for a minute or so, the stillness of the forest wrapping them, until Erica spoke again.

"I didn't know him well," she whispered against his chest. "Not like Dustin and Lucas. I don’t have that many memories of him but he…” – she gulped down the lump in her throat – “he was a good person… and I miss him…" Erica looked up at him, her brown eyes a blur behind her tears. "Am I allowed? To feel pain for his death?"

"Of course you are." Steve crouched in front of Erica, his hands sliding down her arms and into her grip. The moment his fingers slipped in her palms, she tightened her hands around them, almost as if she needed that not to slip away in the dark.

"Losing someone always hurts, and yes, the better you know them, the worse it feels but…” he stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words, trying to put in order his own feelings. “Some people, no matter how quickly they get out of your life, just feel like home. And those… those are the hardest people to lose."

A flash of memories passed through his mind, quicker than light he was barely able to catch it: broken glass against his neck, a wide and warm smile, soft curly hair in his hand, feelings that he had felt before but pushed always to the side exploding in a concert of sensations.

He blinked it all away, taking a sharp breath in.

“Pain is natural. Feeling pain makes us humans and if you cared for someone, if you loved them, then mourning is the most human thing you can do to honor them.” Steve gave a small squeeze to Erica’s hands. “No one can take away your grief, Erica. Not even yourself.”

Erica sniffed and nodded slightly. She took her hands and turned around to wipe away a couple of new tears that escaped her control. Steve watched as her shoulders slowly but surely straightened up with every deep breath she took, and when she finally turned towards him, the fierce Erica he knew was back.

However, a spark was missing in her eyes, her confidence a mere speck of what it once was.

They walked back to the grave without uttering a single word, but the silence hung much lighter now, a warm presence – soft candlelight – instead of a sword of Damocles swaying just above their heads.

A few steps away from the others, Erica stopped. Steve had already opened his mouth but she beat him to it, whispering a quiet thank you, uttered so quickly as if she wanted to throw it away before she could rethink her decision of uttering it in the first place. Then she stepped into the small clearing and sat next to her brother, resting her head on his shoulder. Lucas looked confused for a second, but then put his other arm around her as well and caringly bumped his nose on her head.

The smallest smile appeared on Steve’s face but was immediately erased when he moved his eyes on the spot next to the grave. Robin and Nancy were almost done tugging the ropes and checking the knots. The time had finally come.

A heavy weight set into Steve’s chest, heavier than anything he had ever felt before. His lungs stopped breathing, his heart stopped beating, everything was suddenly too much. The flashlight was too bright, the forest too dark, the sounds made by the nocturnal creatures too loud and his thoughts were moving too fast, a dizzy race he wasn’t able to follow.

He leaned against a tree, breathing deeply, trying to get as much air as possible to not suffocate. It was useless: the more air filled his lungs, the more he felt like drowning. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the coarse bark.

Not now.

Deep breath in.

They still need you.

Hold it.

You can’t crumble yet, not when they’re already on the brink.

Deep breath out.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice was followed by a hand on his shoulder. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do I need to call Nancy? She still has all the bandages and those nursey things-”

“Robs.” She stopped immediately talking, her eyes wide open as they moved frantically on his features. “I’m good.”

A skeptic and hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Take your time, there’s no hurry.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he muttered between shaky breaths. The clock was ticking, the night was getting darker and darker and anyone could’ve discovered them any minute. Either the marshals or the creatures crawling out of the rifts of the Upside-Down.

There was no time to waste on a panic attack.

Steve somehow pushed everything deep inside, locked away somewhere behind his stomach, and pulled himself up again. He swayed a bit on his feet, enough for Robin to raise her hands, ready to catch him if he was to really pass out.

"You good?" she asked again when his balance came back. He quickly nodded, silencing as best as he could the blizzard of thoughts and memories in his head.

Not now, he repeated to himself as he followed Robin to the grave.

When they appeared from the shadows, Nancy gave Steve a quick enquiring look. He shook it away with a small smile. They still understood each other with just a glance, it didn't matter how much time passed. Or to whom else their hearts belonged to.

He took one end of the rope from her and put himself on the opposite side of the stretcher, next to Robin. Nancy stood in front of her.

"Lucas."

She didn't need to say more. Freeing his arms, the boy stood up and filled the empty spot left. He took the rope Nancy was handing him. The way he handled it, carefully but as he deeply wanted to throw it away, seemed like he was handling fire in his hands.

Steve gave a quick glance to Erica and Dustin, both of them now standing. Erica was holding his arm to steady him, but the boy was keeping himself up mostly by leaning heavily on the pine tree behind him.

He still hadn't opened his mouth since they had found him screaming in the Upside-Down, as if he had used all his voice to cry out for help and nothing was left to use.

His eyes, weary and circled by a blue hue, were fixed on the body. His body, Steve's brain reminded him.

As he could ever forget.

"Okay," Nancy exhaled, grasping the rope close to the knot, immediately imitated by the others. "We lift it on three. One."

Steve gripped tighter his rope until he felt it digging into his skin and popping his blisters.

"Two."

His gaze slipped down to the plastic sheet, where the head should've been. A lock of brown hair had escaped it, hanging lifeless from the stretcher.

"You know what, Harrington?" Eddie asked a high Steve, as he mindlessly passed his hand through Eddie's curly hair. "I could probably stay like this forever."

"Three."

In a symphony of heavy breaths, grazed hands and sore backs, the four of them managed to lift up the stretcher and then slowly let it sink down the hole. Robin momentarily lost the grip on the rope a couple times and the weight almost took Lucas down the grave, but the stretcher never faltered. When it finally touched the bottom, they all took a sigh of relief.

After wiping the sweat from his forehead, Steve looked down into the hole. Eddie's body had disappeared, swallowed by the darkness once again. A shiver ran down his spine.

"It's getting too late for you guys to still be out here," he said, turning to Lucas, Erica and Dustin. "You should go back before your families call the police again."

The Sinclair's siblings nodded but Dustin remained still. His gaze hadn't moved from the grave once.

Helping himself with a sturdy branch he had found around, he slowly and tentatively hopped closer to the hole, his back turned to the others. For a terrible second, Steve tensed as Dustin stopped right on the edge, thinking he was going to jump.

But he didn't.

Instead he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small statue of what seemed, from a distance, a knight. Dustin cradled it like a wounded canary, caressing it with his thumbs to clean it from invisible specks of coal dust.

"Farewell, Eddie the Paladin. You valiantly died in battle, fighting to protect everyone 'til your last breath." He hovered the small statue over the grave. "May your soul rest with the bravest and kindest that have fallen on the battlefield."

Then, his fingers slowly opened. Steve didn't see the small object fall, but he heard the sound it made when it hit the plastic sheet on the bottom. A sound, he already knew, that was going to haunt him for many nights to come.

“Soldier boy, made of clay,” Dustin then started singing, a whisper that resonated through the night, “now an empty shell.”

“Dustin,” Lucas called, but he didn’t listen.

“Twenty one… only son…” – his voice broke, followed by a deep shaky breath – “but he served us well…”

Steve stepped next to him. He did not mention that the chords of the song were wrong, or Dustin’s tears, seamless waterfalls running down his cheeks. He simply put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to him. The boy gladly hid his face in his shirt.

“Finished here, greetings death,” he murmured against Steve’s chest, his voice echoing in his every bone, “he's yours to take away.”

And then the screams were back. It was nothing like those Steve had heard in the Upside-Down. Those were filled with anger, denial and a wound so fresh that flesh was still burning, blood still pouring. This was a resigned acceptance, but the grief behind it was no less strong.

They’re gonna hear us, Steve thought for a moment. They’re gonna find us.

However his mouth remained shut as he wrapped Dustin in his arms as tight as he could. His leg, the not-broken one, gave away under him, and they both fell to the ground. Dustin let out a pained gasp when his cast hit a rock, but it was soon lost in his sobbing.

“I know, man,” Steve whispered, his chin resting on Dustin's head and a hand slowly moving up and down his back. “I know…”

- The song Dustin's singing is from the album Master of Puppets by Metallica and is called "Disposable Heroes"

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.