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grace-nakimura · 10 months

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untilted. m. (1/?)

paring: grace/gabriel. gabriel/in denial about his hair going gray/white is the true otp tho. warnings: not beta'd. rough draft. some sexual content, mentions of pregnancy, and language. it's really a soft 'm' / or 'r' really. minor character death mentioned. summary: set within the Whoops!verse. basically, the gang is set to go to upstate new york to investigate a haunting, and gabriel is in denial that his eldest might be taking on the mantle of the next schattenjager sooner than he'd like, as well as there being any gray in his hair.

For centuries, the fortress of Schloss Ritter withstood plagues and famine, love and loss, death and life, war and peace. Located in the southern part of Bavaria, Germany, the castle stood amidst tall evergreens and snowy mountains behind it. It looked almost like a castle in a fairy tale. It had been a home to the Ritter family for as long as it stood; many a Ritter was born, lived, and died within the stone walls. Much like the Schattenjager’s of the Ritter line, whenever there was a need for safety or protection, Schloss Ritter was there.

Some might call the fortress that had been handed down to him his home, just like some might’ve called New Orleans his home on accounts that he was born and raised there, but neither was true; his home was never a place, but the people associated with it.

New Orleans hadn’t been home since Gran passed the year before Katrina. Rebecca Knight ended up going quietly into that good night after all—peacefully and in her sleep, in her own bed rather than some Nursing Home, with a smile on her face. Lived long enough to hold two of her great-grandchildren, while probably watching over the two she never got to meet from wherever she was. Somewhere nice, he hoped. Somewhere where they played her favorite soaps, let her eat all the Beignets she wanted while dancing with Grandaddy to some Blues.

“Of all the things I miss about your grandfather, Gabriel,” she always said, “was dancin’ with him. Oh, he wasn’t much of a dancer—neither was I—but I’d give anything to dance with him again.”

Of all things, he hoped she got her wish; of all the people who deserved the very best, in this life and the next, it was his Gran.

And she lived in pictures; from the faded photos of her girlhood, when she was just Rebecca Wright, to the very last photo he had of her, holding her great-grandson when he was six months old, while Bex sat on the other side of her looking none too impressed that Gran was giving someone other than her attention. Those photos, while adorning most of the rooms in the fortress as any photos of import, now were preserved on the computer with Grace’s help.

She also lived on in her aging grandson who, regardless of how Grace and the kids picked at him, sat hunched in front of his perfectly good typewriter, shaping different sorts of worlds like his daddy painted them. His hair was shorter—due to finding out quickly that toddlers tend to tug on whatever they could find, hair included—and Grace liked to tell him there were strands of gray in his strawberry blond locks, but his Gracie needed to get her vision rechecked.

He had lived in Schloss Ritter for over twenty years. He had adventures, he wrote about his adventures, and even did the one thing that he had been running from since he could remember: he raised a family. That didn’t mean it was his home. Oh, he spent the past two decades giving it some good ol’ TLC, while also modernizing it to meet the new Millennium from the dark ages, but it wasn’t a home just because he slept, ate, and bathed there.

It was a home because it was where Bex, his eldest, took her first steps. It was a home because it was where Ellie, the middle child and what was supposed to be the final one, decorated the foyer with her art, proving that Philip Knight still lived through his granddaughter, even by means of permanent markers. It was where Harry, only son and named after his Granddaddy, lost his first tooth in the very study he was sitting in. It was where Alex, the surprise and final contribution to the Ritter line, recently broke her arm by trying to imitate her brother and slide down the banister.

And it was where, a few months after Ellie was born, Gabriel had said to hell with fear and asked Grace to marry him.

The kids were with Gerde and Wilhelm for the night. While being childless themselves, they always welcomed the next generation of smartasses with open arms, often spoiling them so much they didn’t want to go home. He hadn’t planned on asking Grace that night. The thought had hovered in his head for a year or two, but it was nothing serious. What he planned was dinner, watching a movie that they wanted to watch verses whatever the kids decided, and breaking in their new bed. Sleeping in, too, without being woken up by an infant or two school age children complaining about being hungry.

Basically, a night child-free, be it staying inside or the rare times they would go out.

She didn’t look any different, his Grace, from what he remembered of that night. They were watching some thriller, or horror movie, with his arm around her and her head resting on his chest, cuddled in tightly. A blanket Gran had knitted for them was over them, protecting them from the cold, because even if he installed a heater, it was still cold as hell in late February. No makeup, because she was ‘too exhausted to even hide her exhaustion’ or something, her hair cropped back to the bob she had sported when they first met, wearing some sweater dress she bought some few weeks ago. She even wore her glasses, something she only did at bedtime and when she couldn’t be bothered to put in her contacts, watching the victim on the TV spew copious amounts of fake blood with an almost bored look.

“Horror movies have gone downhill,” she had said, cuddling closer into what she called an Ugly Christmas Sweater—it was the only thing that didn’t have baby spit up on it--, her bare knees rubbing against his black jeans without thinking. “There’s nothing scary in decapitation if there isn’t anything leading up to it. It’s not even shocking. It’s just random at this point.”

Maybe it was the fact she understood—not necessarily liked, but understood—the horror genre, his first love, or maybe it was the fact that sitting beside her on a cold night was preferable than getting shit-faced in some bar that made him ask those four words: “Will you marry me?”

She had laughed at him until she realized he was serious. After convincing her that he wasn’t possessed, even going as far as putting on the Ritter talisman to prove he was himself, she had said yes. Well, it was more like a ‘why the hell not?’ sort of moment that made him laugh because it was something so Grace he could never, would never, be offended. Not when her eyes had twinkled like little stars.

Yep. The southern Libertine himself, the fatherless boy who ran from fatherhood or commitment like a bat-outta-hell, and the will-o-the-wisp author-turned-supernatural hunter was raising a family with a woman he was crazy about. It hadn’t been all rainbows and sunshine; they had even taken a break before Harry was even thought of after a huge argument over the possibility of Grace returning to the States temporarily to finish her PHD, then transfer everything to a school in Munich.

Well, there was more to it than just that, but it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Six months later they’d reconcile, find a compromise, and a year later Harry would be born. Then Ellie five years later. Oh, there were more hiccups, mostly regarding being a Schattenjager, or even the kids because, no, kids do not solve anything. They enrich, they expand your definition of love, but they were not band-aids. Honestly, kids made things harder, but it was like his father-in-law always told Grace: the things that are worth it in life never come easy.

Grace, the kids, everything else? Worth it, because he fought tooth-and-nail for it. And, unlike his Granddaddy and daddy after, was lucky enough to see his eldest become an adult.

Schloss Ritter wasn’t home. The people inside it, the memories, just like the memories inside Gran’s own house before it was damaged by Katrina, made it a home.

Which led to the topic he’d been typing something fierce at, in his study, like the aristocrat he supposedly was by all rights, yet the term felt alien; as if he were trying on a suit that was two sizes too big. It was how he felt when he became the Schattenjager—the talisman not far from him and out of reach of curious hands—and, even if he passed his three trials, continued to feel today. This story, a story that had been years in the making, was about a home. A house, really, that left imprints of lives that lived and breathed within its walls. Just like Schloss Ritter. Just like Gran’s home she shared with Grandaddy.

Someone began to rapt at the door, “Come in!” A rule the kids follow and a rule that he and Grace followed, as well: knocking and waiting for permission to enter a room. Boundaries. The door opened to reveal his youngest, right arm in a sling from trying to slide down the banister just like Harry and Bex do—which they were told not to do ad nauseum for this reason alone—all dressed in her pajamas for bed, looking put out.

She gave him the look Gracie got when she wasn’t particularly amused with him.

“Got somethin’ on ya mind, half-pint?”

Alex—Alexandria, but only when a scolding was needed—gave an overdramatic huff, as if whatever bothered her was clearly putting her out, “Mommy says to come downstairs. ‘Cause there is a man there, an’ she said – she said that it’s ‘bout your Job.” Ah, a possible case. The kids knew something, or at least cliff-notes and G rated versions when they were younger and slowly expanding it over time, of what he and Grace did. Besides him being an author and Grace being a professor, that was. “She said – she said ta’ bring the tails-man ‘cause that’s what Tantchen Gerde always tells you ta’ do!”

His story momentarily forgotten, Gabriel put the talisman over his head—still heavy as ever—and eased himself from the pricey Herman Miller desk chair he splurged on a few years back. Didn’t stop his bones from yelling at him for sitting so long, nor did it keep him from grunting because, damn, he really was getting old.

Fifty-five.

Older than his father. Older than his Granddaddy. Probably older than his Grandaddy’s Grandaddy.

Why it was he who got to live past forty, to see his kids grow up, he’ll never know. Maybe it was because the talisman was in the hands of the enemy for centuries. Maybe it was because Heinz Ritter crossed the Atlantic to run away from destiny. Or maybe life just had a funny sense of humor.

Not all your children are out of the nest yet, Knight, a voice warned him when he made eye contact with Alex. Alex, who was the only one who had their mother’s brown eyes. The rest were either green, or some shade of hazel, but Alex? Alex’s were dark and big and discerning for all that she was five years old. Five going on eighty, more like it. He batted the thought away and gently led her out of the study, following her lead down the stairs, not missing how she’d look at the rail with an almost fondness, before being led to the living room.

Some old families had two living rooms; one that was for show, or for company, and the other that was more lived in, private, and just for the family. Gabriel didn’t really subscribe to that theory. Not that it would’ve stopped the four members of the Knight-Nakimura clan anyway. While the video game consoles were in the entertainment room—hell, how he had enough money for one still amazed him; growing up, the entertainment room was the living room, all in one special—and most of the VHS tapes and DVDs were loaded onto a file to stream than pop it in a player, which still boggled his mind, they had a heft library of different movies just to show his children what they looked like back in his day.

“Relics of a forgotten age,” Bex had said wistfully, placing a hand over her heart. “Just like your hairline.”

“Startin’ to think we should’ve left you as Whoops,” he had muttered with no real heat to it. Can’t blame his kids for being smartasses; with the rapier wit of Gracie, and his sarcastic nature, it was only inevitable they would be worse.

The living room was lived in. With the big fireplace in the middle, a toy or two they’ve told Alex to pick up give-or-take twenty times, to the odd school bag, books, or homework, and even mugs of coffee littered about.

That one was on him.

Standing in front of the fireplace was a man, probably warming himself from December’s chill, with copper hair slicked back with a few highlights of white. His back was turned to him, but he wore a suit; not that he was knowledgeable in suits, but his seemed expensive. He still preferred a good ol’ shirt and jeans, himself. The only reason why he wore a sweater was due to the cold, but the black jeans and boots still stayed. Besides his hair being slightly shorter, and the supposed shades of gray in his hair that he did not have, he looked the same.

He noticed Grace urge their youngest back up the stairs. Age was kind to her. She kept her hair shorter, still insisted on bangs because she still said her forehead was huge, and while birthing four human beings naturally made her fuller, softer, it didn’t stop the fact he thought she was the sexiest thing he’d ever see.

He loved her. Plain and simple. And while she wore her oversized Yale hoodie, pair of sweatpants and those slippers of hers, she was downright delectable just because he loved her.

“Bed.” said Grace as she urged Alex, who was toeing the line of Grace’s patience with taking one step at a time, using those big brown eyes of hers as a sort of weapon against Grace’s unimpressed stare. “Now.”

“Just gonna listen in with Ellie anyway,” which prompted another voice, a nine-year-old’s screeching her little sister’s name. Ah. That explained why Ellie’s, or Elisse, room wasn’t shut like it usually was.

Harry was with a friend in a town nearby and Bex, well, being nearly twenty meant that being stuck with her family on holiday was nothing short of torture. Unlike how he and Moseley went about things, the type of “parties” Bex frequented were the Dungeons-and-Dragon sessions she ran with a group of friends.

“If you two even want a Christmas, you best mind your mama,” Gabriel intervened, doing his best to seem authoritative by clenching his jaw, crossing his arms, and narrowing his eyes.

He practiced when Bex was a baby in front of the mirror countless times. Used to make Bex and Harry burst into tears like he was going to throw them in the dungeon and toss away the key. Not that it ever happened. Most they got was being sent to their room or the odd time out. That stopped being effective when both were about nine and then it was good old-fashioned groundings, which made him enemy number one more time than not. Ellie, the softer of his band of smart-asses, still cried when he used that tone and that look.

Alex? Alex could’ve cared less.

Thankfully, before she could be defiant, Ellie, the only one who inherited his hair color even if it was a darker auburn, grabbed her little sister by the arm that wasn’t in a sling and pulled her away. He also noticed how she deliberately avoided eye contact while doing so. Oh, Ellie could give as good as she got, but she had too much of Gran’s soft heart; Bex, Harry, and Alex were thick skinned by second nature, but Ellie was the one who held that soft heart of hers on her sleeve the most.

He hoped the world wouldn’t make it bitter; most of all, he hoped the world, or himself, wouldn’t break it.

Chuckling brought him and Grace back to the man.

Now that his back wasn’t to the couple anymore, Gabriel noticed that he might’ve been around the same height, or maybe even an inch or two taller. Blue eyed. Fair. Beard whiter than the copper on his head, making his hair almost orange by being illuminated by fire. “Sorry,” he said. Ah, an Englishman then. “Reminds me when my boys were younger.”

“Kids are somthin’ else alright,” he and Grace made their way into the living room, all the while getting a good look at this man. This man who, with how he kept darting his eyes almost like a nervous tick to the talisman around his neck, needed his expertise. Feeling him out. It took a lot of hits and misses, but he’s gotten better at reading people. He didn’t seem like a threat, but he kept his guard up, nonetheless. “Can we get ya anythin’, Mister...?”

“Alaister. Ben Alaister,” he reached out his hand for Gabriel to shake with a nervous smile on his face. Gabriel returned the handshake, firmly, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. “Hello there. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knight.”

Waving toward the couch facing the one he and Grace were sitting on, Ben followed suit, if only a bit jumpy. “I take it you met my wife?”

“I did, yes,” he looked over at Grace and gave a toothy grin and a nod of his head, before turning his attention back to Gabriel. “The two of you...work together?”

“Yep.” He made the ‘p’ pop at the end of the word, not missing how Grace fought that sly smile of hers.

Grace was his partner in all things, but especially in this. She saved his life several times and, even during the times when she could not join him on a case physically, her expertise always came through just when he needed it. This was something else that required a lot of years to mature, to work through, because even when she did come back from her stint in India, if only for being pregnant, they still had years to fully iron out how they’d work together.

They did. Well, in fact. That’s all that mattered.

His hand reached for her own instinctively, giving it a squeeze as he listened to what Ben Alaister had to say.

***

“Ghosts?” He shook his head, easing under the covers of his bed. His big, comfy bed that had a thing called memory foam that he was obsessed with. His room had an ensuite, much like Grace’s did, that now belonged to Bex when she wasn’t at school. Probably moisturizing her face like she did every night, clad in one of his old shirts that showed off her legs. From where the bed was gave him ample room to lean over like so to see how she’d bend over and wash her face with warm water. He was leering. He was proud of it, too, with a self-satisfied smile when he noticed how she caught him in the mirror, patting her wet face with a towel. “The only thing hauntin’ me is those legs of yours...”

“Stuff it, Knight.”

Arms behind his head, he stretched out his body like a cat would, his face nothing short of smug. “I did. ‘Have been for twenty years, baby. Play your cards right, Gracie, and maybe...” He wiggled his hips and brows suggestively, laying it on thick.

The towel she used to pat face dry flew toward him, hitting him on his bare chest.

Once Mr. Alaister had said his piece earlier, he and Grace deliberated, and eventually agreed to come to his home in Upstate New York to investigate. Grace’s family had moved from Manhattan to Rochester, where they were asked to investigate, which made it easier to bring their brood along, or gave them an excuse to bring them along and have them safe from any danger. Oh, they enjoyed the moments of being child-free, but they also enjoyed the moments with their children, especially when one kept hinting at leaving the nest, and the other not too far behind.

Being a dad? Best fucking adventure he’d ever have. Hands down. Didn’t matter all the tears, the arguments, the sleepless nights—he wouldn’t trade a moment of it. It was the hardest thing he’d ever do, apart from trimming his hair, but for all that heartache was some of the best times in his life. Teaching Ellie how to ride a bike and doing his best not to laugh when she crashed into a bush. Fishing with Harry, even if both were awful at it and spent most of the time just talking. Spending hours reading to Bex when she was younger because it was never just one story, but two, and then she’d always try for a third one. He even enjoyed being different characters with Alex at the annual tea parties she hosted with all her stuffed animals.

He meant what he told Bex when she was little, just a few weeks old, resting in his arms.

He was having the time of his life fighting dragons with them.

Clap of her hands the lights slowly dimmed toward darkness, sliding under the bed covers to his open arms, Grace tucked her head under his chin, their limbs entangled together like an unbreakable knot. “Witches. Voodoo cults. Werewolves. Vampires. It only makes sense for ghosts.” Grace was one part no nonsense and the other part almost a mystic; skeptical, but never too closed off where she wouldn’t at least entertain the idea of things she didn’t understand.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“You had your three trials already,” she hedged, and he felt how she visibly stiffened in his arms. “What if this is Bex’s first?”

Ah.

Schattenjager’s, or at least the Ritter’s, were male. First born sons to the first-born sons, and so forth. It was said if a Ritter had only girls, the current Schattenjager would wait for his grandchild to be born a boy, and then pass on the line. No rhyme or reason why. Probably just tradition; probably just a good ol’ heap of sexism; or probably a little of both.

And yet, every instinct pointed at his eldest, who shared his Gran’s name just like she shared his Gran’s smile.

Rebecca Chiyo Knight. To bind a thousand generations. If he knew her name would almost be prophetic, he would’ve opted for Kaitlyn, instead.

“I’m still here, Gracie,” how he managed to survive all that destiny threw at him no one knew. He rubbed soothing circles on Grace’s back, pressing his lips into the crown of her head, soothing her worries. Her worries were the same as his. Someone said being a parent meant having your heart live outside your body. It was true. For all four of them—even if two were planned, one was an impulsive one-night stand, and the other a result of a vasectomy not sticking—were all pieces of his heart outside of his chest and all he could do was stand by and watch them grow. “We still got time to cross that bridge when we have to.”

He’d rather Bex had a choice. Rather any of his kids to have a choice on how to live their own life. Bex was a musician, probably the only one in the family that carried a tune. Gran could, but she always said his father and his Grandaddy left something to be desired whenever they tried to sing a note. Gabriel took after them in that respect, but Bex could sing. She was meant for Broadway, or to be in a band, or something like that. Not risking her life fighting boogiemen.

And yet, he wouldn’t make the same mistake Heinz Ritter made; if destiny called, if Bex was willing, he’d do his best to stand aside and support her, because like hell he was he going to allow his little girl to go into that unknown alone.

Grace relaxed a little, but he didn’t need to see her face to know it was still pinched with worry. “Ever thought our lives would end up like this? Makes me miss just worryin’ about owning a bookshop without any customers.”

“Or not paying your only employee.” She raised her head from his neck to peer up at him. While her face was graced with lines for all the time she laughed, or frowned, or smiled, that feisty twenty-five-year-old that walked through the door that fateful Tuesday some-odd thirty years ago was there. If you had told him then that this woman, with her modest blouse and long floral skirt, would change his entire world? He would’ve laughed.

Grace wasn’t his first love, but she was his last.

“Still like to look down your shirt,” because while he may have grown, matured than that thirty-year-old libertine he used to be, he was still...him. Pressing his forehead against Grace’s, those green eyes of his dart toward her chest, while the hand that rubbed her back moved southward toward her rear. “’Specially like it now when I can see you without it.” Oh, she’d try to roll her eyes, even when he grabbed the meat of her ass, bucking his hips against hers. After all, they were still entangled, not knowing who ended and who began, while his other hand cupped the back of her head. “Remember when we were sparrin’, the two of us before Prince James ever called?”

She nodded, and her own hands began to run up and down the expanse of his bare chest. “I pinned you down.” Took him by surprise, more like, and not just because she surprised him by flipping him over. Oh, he always found her attractive; annoying, stubborn, but also the bedrock of the man who he was slowly becoming, a sounding board, and someone who saved his life more times than he could count. She took him by surprise at how much he suddenly wanted her at that moment, straddling him, with her hands on either side of his head.

He remembered all he had to do was lift his hips like so—exactly as he did now, rolling to where she was under him—and they would cross a bridge that neither would come back from.

He always flirted with her. It was never serious. He never really wanted her ‘til after that.

For the life of him, he still couldn’t remember when wanting turned to needing turned to loving, either. Only that it happened and when he even began to consider what it was, or could be, she had left. It was just providence she came back.

It was just pure damn luck she stayed.

Her legs were hooked around his waist as he began to gyrate against her, slowly, enjoying the look of annoyance because Grace’s passion was fiery, consuming, and impatient while he enjoyed savoring it, taking his time, draw it out where both people were a mumbling mess. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that. Dreamin’ ‘bout that.” His hot breath was fanning the apples of her cheeks, forehead against hers while one hand drifted beneath her shirt, caressing her, marveling how this never seemed to dull over time. His other held her hips in place, keeping control of the tempo, if only because it drove her wild.

Rutting like two horny teens in the back of a car at some drive-in, and soon they were kissing, and soon he was growing hard when she bit his bottom lip.

“Gabriel...” Her hands were edging his sleep pants down, doing her best to keep her voice low. “Please...”

“Mm, please what, baby?” He drawled, flicking his tongue against her lips and making sure to draw away when she went in for a kiss. “Nuh-uh. C’mon, Gracie, use your words.”

It was all fun and games until his own voice disappeared when she reached between them, beneath his sleeppants, and cupped him with her palm. Careful not to be too loud since, while living in a fortress was nice and all, sounds carried, and he really didn’t want to have another conversation with his kids about why mama and daddy weren’t dying, they were just...meditating. “That’s cheatin’.”

Grace smirked. That same smug smirk still aggravated him and enamored him in equal measure. “I’m a woman of action.”

“Mom? Dad?”

Oh, goddamnit.

He swore into Grace’s neck, biting his lips as a hand rapt against the bedroom door. “Just a minute, El.”

It wasn’t the first time this happened; it wouldn’t be the last time, either. He was just glad they had the good sense in locking the doors. They learned the hard way when Harry, probably no older than three, walked in on them. Thank God he never saw anything.

Rolling off Grace, he situated himself, pulled up his pants, while Grace quickly fetched a robe to tie over her body in a firm knot.

He opened the double doors to their room to find a tear-stained little girl, holding the same stuffed rabbit she had had since she was a baby, to her chest. “’Nother nightmare, baby girl?” Ellie nodded, then turned to look at Grace who had come to pull her into a side hug. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

Ellie shook her head, her bottom lip quivering. Her thick hair was tied in the two french braids she had worn that day, but even in the dim light he noticed beads of sweat peppered her forehead.

He wanted to pry, not out of just wanting to pick her brain, but because he hated seeing his kids upset, or hurt, or afraid. He wanted to help them. In some ways, he wanted to make up for all the times he had wanted a dad growing up. Gran was great; Gran was never the problem and, to be honest, if he never had a Gran in his life, the place he would’ve been in would be much darker. While Philip and Margaret Knight couldn’t help dying, the hole they left behind only grew as the years went on.

Being a dad helped.

Therapy helped, too, probably a bit more so in the long run, but that was something of a need-to-know basis.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay?” Grace offered, bending down to place a kiss on top of Ellie’s head. “I’ll stay ‘til you fall asleep.”

Ellie nodded, then looked at him expectantly. “Let me pour ya a glass of magic water,” and at the pained expression on Ellie’s face, he knew she wasn’t to upset. “Hey! Ask your brother and sister; every time we gave them the magic water, they stopped havin’ nightmares. It’s an old recipe my Gran taught me.”

Grace led Ellie to her room while he made his way to the kitchen, but his ears did manage to pick up: “Why can’t he just call it a glass of water, mom?”

***

Morning came with the same hustle-and-bustle as it usually did.

“Shoes off!” Grace called as Harry made his way through the kitchen entrance; during their ongoing job of renovating Schloss Ritter as well as repairing it, Gabriel installed another entrance in a grand kitchen just like the one at his Gran’s house. The kitchen and dining were all open planned, more personal. There was still the grand dining room, of course, but it would’ve caught cobwebs if the cleaning staff—hell, he was rich enough for one of those—didn't tend to it regularly. Overnight bag over his shoulder, all legs and gangly, probably already ate at his friend’s house and wanted seconds, Harry—or Harrison—came to Gabriel’s shoulder at fourteen.

Gabriel was in the kitchen frying the bacon and eggs, while Ellie set the table, and Alex sat on the counter, her legs dangling off, ‘helping’ him as he cooked.

“Dad doesn’t have to.” Harry grumbled, but from where he stood Gabriel could see he did as he was told anyway. Shrugging off his sneakers and probably making his way to the living room to shrug off his overnight bag, which he’d leave for about an hour or so, give or take, before Gabriel or Grace would have to remind him to take it to his room.

He was a good kid. He just didn’t always think, which was something he, apparently, struggled with for fifty-five years.

And shortly after the table was set, everyone sat down to eat, the prodigal daughter returned through the same entrance as her little brother, knowing second-nature to shrug off her own shoes, quickly bee-lining to pile on her plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits smothered with gravy, and sausage. They may live in Germany, but Gabriel insisted on the next generation to have a healthy appreciation for good ol’ southern cooking. A messy bun rested on top of her head and, from what he could tell, she came back home in the shirt and jeans she left in yesterday. He noted the dark circles under her eyes—lack of sleep or maybe forgetting to take off her makeup—but said nothing.

Ellie had finally gone to bed last night after a glass of water and being tucked in by Grace, and then he and Grace followed suit themselves, not bothering to resume anything else. All the kids had nightmares or, in Harry’s case, sleepwalked... which was the bedrock that most of the ‘blackmail’ Gabriel had for his only son was built on. For some reason Ellie’s seemed to ramp up recently.

He had asked about her dreams again earlier this morning, but she still said she didn’t want to talk about it, so he’d let it be.

Grace sat by Alex, cutting up her food so she could eat it without taking huge bites—not that it stopped any of them from doing it—while Ellie and Harry sat side by side, one drinking her orange juice, while Harry devoured his third plate. Oh, Harry was a growing boy, alright, eating them all of house and home—just like his Gran teased him about as a teenager.

“Nice of you to join us!” Gabriel called as his eldest made her way toward the table, sliding into her seat near Grace and didn’t stop stuffing her face like her siblings. Probably still was waking up. Their eldest enjoyed a great many things and sleep was one of the top five. She always slept. Waking her up for school was like pulling teeth, and then once they finally got the bear out of her den, attempting to encourage her to get ready before she was late was another feat. Bex, much like how he used to be, was a Night Owl; raising four kids sort of forced him to learn how to adapt to the mornings and the three cups of coffee? Helped. The grunt in a greeting only proved his point. “Have fun last night? Two grunts for yes, only one grunt for no.”

Bex glared and continued to stuff her face.

It was Grace that broke the silence, taking her attention away from Alex, whose mouth was covered with gravy despite Grace’s best efforts, clearing her throat. “Your dad and I have some news,” she began, putting on a brave face even as her voice wavered slightly. “We are all,” and this was where she gave a pointed look at their eldest, who gave a pointed look back at Grace as if to establish dominance, “going on a holiday to New York!”

Ellie’s hazel eyes sparkled, “can we go to Time Square? Or – or maybe a Broadway show! I’ve never seen one ever!”

Harry piped in, “What if, this is just hypothetical, but what if I were to stay behind and hold down the fort here—fine.” Grace’s narrowed eyes shot him down.

“You only want to stay because of Hanna,” Ellie quipped, grumbling as she picked up her bacon to chew on it.

This caught Gabriel’s interest. “Who is Hanna?”

“His girlfriend!” Alex piped in, wiggling as Grace attempted to clean the thick gravy from her face while also doing her best to keep it out of her hair. “I saw him put his tongue in her mouth an’ - a’ she didn’t bite it off! I thought she was gonna bite it off, but she didn’t! I think she put her tongue in his mouth an’ it was so gross—”

“We get the picture, half-pint,” to Gabriel’s credit he did his best not to laugh. Not only at how dramatic Alex was but the way Harry’s whole face turned red. “You shouldn’t spy on people, though. It ain’t nice. You wouldn’t like it if people spied on you, would ya?” Not that he was exactly innocent of that, but it was a teaching moment, not a confessional. Turning to his son, who stared at his near-empty third helping, probably wishing for there to be a hole he could be sucked into to avoid any more embarrassment, he decided to play it cool. “I’d like to meet Hanna.”

“She only speaks German,” Harry murmured, still doing his best to avoid eye contact. “You don’t.”

“I do speak German!” Well, kind of, but also... no. He had lived in the country for the past two decades. Just never got around to it. His kids and Gracie, though, were all but fluent. Well, the kids more than Grace, given they went to school here, made friends, and socialized way more than the two adults did. Writing, hunting, and raising human beings sort of took up his energy before he could take the classes that he’d been promising himself he’d enroll in. Promising his lawyer and Gerde he’d enroll in, anyway. “Anyway, I’d still like to meet her.”

“She’s very sweet,” Grace reassured, doing her best to conceal a knowing grin.

“How’d you meet her already and not me?” Gabriel asked.

“Oh, I put two-and-two together when I dropped Pepto Bismal off at school the other day,” choosing to pick her battles she all but gave up on trying to keep Alex’s face clean, decided to take a sip of her own coffee before it turned cold. Harry groaned at the nickname, but Grace went on as if nothing happened. Bex and his sisters snickered into their food, even if each of them had their own nickname from where Grace was concerned.

Bex was Whoops, considering she wasn’t on either of their bingo cards in that hotel room in France. Harry was Pepto Bismol because the entire duration of Grace’s second pregnancy was spent hunched over a toilet. Ellie was Pushing-Our-Luck, given she was the last and, with an easy pregnancy and a quick delivery—born on the way to the hospital shortly after Grace’s water broke—Grace joked that they shouldn’t tempt fate a fourth time. And then Alex, the wild one, was Snip-Gone-Wrong on account that the vasectomy didn’t take. Rare for it to happen, but it did; as soon as Alex was born Grace scheduled a hysterectomy. Just in case, Grace had told him.

“Still like to meet her,” Gabriel had said, and remembering Ellie’s other question before they were derailed, “and we ain’t goin’ to N-Y-C, El. Upstate near your grandparents.” At how she deflated, he soothed it over with, “But if not this trip, we can make a trip this summer to see a show. How’s that sound?”

Bex made the choice to speak in actual words rather than grunts, or glares, her plate already cleared. “I thought obisan and ojisan were coming here for New Year?”

“She speaks!”

“They are getting older,” Grace hedged, giving Gabriel a glare to cool it before turning their attention to Bex. “We just thought it would be better to see them. Just like we used to see Gran-Gran when you were little.”

“Oshi-da-wa!” Alex cheered.

Grace smirked, “You mean Otoshidama, but nice try. And all of you,” Grace gave a look to each and every member at the circular table, but especially the littlest one, “will be on your best behavior.”

Gabriel didn’t understand why he got the look. Hikari Nakimura liked him. Always had a way with women, after all, but it just helped that she was a fan of his books. Played it on thick when they gave Ellie the middle name of Hikari, too, using his southern charm that seemed to melt all generations of women. It was a gift. It was a curse.

You’re so full of yourself, a voice that sounded like Grace’s popped in his head.

Maybe it was her father, Haruto, who wasn’t his biggest fan. Oh, they liked each other alright, but his father-in-law kept him at arms-length. From getting his only child pregnant before there was a ring on her finger or the six-month split when Bex was around four, or maybe the fact he knew just who “Fuji” was in his Blake Backlash series, there was a bit of tension. Which was fine. He still stayed. He’s dealt with things far more terrifying than a disapproving father-in-law.

And as grandparents? They were doting, patient, encouraging and enthusiastic. Grace said they let the kids get away with a lot of things she wouldn’t have even imagined. They even liked Gran, too, and spoke to her on the phone before she passed. Typical grandparent behavior, he assumed. Gran had to be his mama, daddy, and Gran all in one growing up. Not that he gave her much trouble. Well, not that he ever let on all the trouble he and Mosely got into. They loved the kids just as much as they loved Grace.

“Whatd’ya say?” Gabriel piped in, keeping good cheer, if only to annoy his two eldest. “Ready for an adventure?”

Bex smirked, now more awake and in better spirits than before, “Do we have a choice, oh-dubious-leader?”

“Nope,” and to be a butt, he made the ‘p’ pop at the end.

“Fine.” The two eldest agreed in unison. Ellie nodded, wiping her mouth with a napkin. Alex, who was going to need a bath or something after breakfast, gave him a thumbs up.

#myfic #gk #gabriel knight #grace nakimura #the gabriel knight series #gabriel knight series #* whoops #fic is set december of '18 btw

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allthingsdarkanddirty · 2 years

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HOT NEW RELEASE

We are thrilled to celebrate IT’S COMPLICATED ROM COM BOX SET: 4 Closed Door and Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedies by Kate O’Keeffe is LIVE!

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Available in KU

4 full-length romantic comedy novels about the complicated ways we find love, set in London, UK. Each story is about a different friend, so can be read as standalones or as a series.

NEVER FALL FOR YOUR ONE THAT GOT AWAY I’m the queen of dating disasters—I’ve had more rotten dates than you can shake a long stemmed rose at. After years of one disappointment after another, I’m beginning to feel like I’ll never say “I do.”

So after being dumped one too many times I do something stupid:

I make a pact with my best friend Asher. If neither of us are married by 35, we tie the knot. That’s five full years of searching for The One. I’ve got to meet Mr. Right by then, don’t I?

Except when I take a job redecorating Asher’s bachelor pad, I realize he’s a lot different from the guy I thought he was. Against all odds, I find myself falling for my best friend. Maybe my back-up guy could be The One after all?

Except there’s only one problem…My back-up guy has a secret that could ruin everything.

NEVER FALL FOR YOUR ENEMY Rich. Over-privileged. Smug. The guy’s far too good looking for his own good, and he’s always got that smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth, telling me what he thinks of me.

And now, my worst nightmare has come true.

Charles Cavendish has moved into my building which means I can’t avoid seeing him everywhere I go. He’s always there, judging me, especially when I come in late at night. Hey, I can’t help it if my “single American girl in London” writing gig means I’ve got to check out every new club in town. Charles is so tightly wound he goes to work before the birds have chirped their first good morning.

He needs to loosen up. Live a little. Actually, I don’t care what he does, just as long as he does it nowhere near me. Because I hate him with the heat of a thousand suns. And I always will.

Only now I’m stuck in an elevator with him. On Christmas Eve. Alone. What’s the worst that could happen?

NEVER FALL FOR YOUR FAKE FIANCÉ Pretending to be engaged to James Brody, the hot, single London deputy mayor who graces gossip columns, is just a business deal. Nothing more. I’m his appropriately demure fiancée that makes him look like he’s not the playboy the media thinks he is, and he’s my ticket to getting my pushy mum off my back about not being married and producing her two perfect grandchildren.

What’s more, while we’re pretending to be engaged, I can spend all my time trying to capture the real prince in my fairy tale. The guy I’ve been in love with forever.

The problem is, I’ve started to enjoy being with James on our fake dates and public appearances. And, if I’m being totally honest, with his tall, dark, and handsome looks, he’s pretty easy on the eye, too.

And then there’s that kiss we shared that took my breath away. Yeah, that.

Sure, I know it was for an audience. I know I shouldn’t read anything into it. I know he’s kissed more girls than I’ve had trips on the Tube. But the heat in that kiss can’t be fake.

The problem is, I want the fairy tale, the Hallmark movie, the real thing. And I know James Brody isn’t the real thing. Nope. This is a business deal. Only the deeper I get, the more I realize someone forgot to tell my heart that.

NEVER FALL FOR YOUR ONE THAT GOT AWAY Noah Grant was my first. He was the guy who went from childhood friend to teenage love. The guy I spent one heady, intoxicating summer with, only to have my heart snapped in two—not by him, but by me.

Fast forward twelve years and just when I think I’m finally over Noah, he’s back. Older, wiser, hotter. Definitely hotter.

Work throws us together, and there’s no avoiding him, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to avoid him, although I know I should.

But Noah’s hiding something. And if I let myself get close, could his secret break my heart all over again?

#newrelease #readyourheartout #needtoreaditnow #wildfiremarketingsolutions

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podcastenthusiast · 3 years

Text

Julieta's life is, in a broad sense, a catalog of missing things. Things like arepas, and salt, and sleep. And family members.

It is also filled with love and warmth, of course, but when you are blessed with a Gift at five years old that quickly acquaints you with not just the concepts of illness and injury, but their realities, your mind tends to tread darker paths. Not the same twisting paths, though, that Bruno's mind would wander down and eventually be lost to them all for ten years. Agustin has always been the one to help her find the light again when she couldn't see it herself.

The first sharp absence in Julieta's life, the first she knew of death, was her father.

It would feel unkind to say she does not miss him. But it is a strange thing to love a memory, the idea of someone you never really got to meet, someone who died so you might live. Which she did, matching the twenty-five years of Pedro Madrigal's life, then adding twenty-five more. She's old enough now to be mistaken for his mother were he still alive.

You carry it with you, that loss you've known before you knew your own name. She feels it most keenly when she watches Agustin and the girls; the simple everyday moments between father and daughter that her own childhood lacked.

Julieta doesn't give much thought until she's older to the portrait of her father by the stairs. An impossible thing in a house that's itself a wonder. The portrait must have been conjured by Casita, she supposes. Mamá never talks about it; fleeing home with nothing but her husband, three newborns, and their wedding candle to guide them in the dark. She will tell an abridged version of this tale to each of her grandchildren as they stand ready to open their doors, but no more is said.

For them, and even for Julieta and her siblings who'd grown up working hard but never truly knowing hunger or fear, it's always jarring to be reminded of the one loss that she can lay claim to, yet still feels detached from. That is her mother's story, her mother's quiet grief. The sort of pain no amount of Julieta's cooking will ever be able to touch. She only knows the shape of it, and it doesn't entirely feel like it belongs to her.

The second major absence in Julieta's life was, of course, her brother Bruno.

He leaves behind an empty room and a darkened door, taking nothing but a piece of Mamá's heart with him when he vanishes. Julieta imagines she can see it break off like ice.

She feels it in her own heart, too. Together all of their lives and suddenly...apart. Adrift. It's like a missing tooth you can't help pressing your tongue to.

No. That isn't enough. It's like a missing limb.

His name soon joins their father's in family myth, not to be spoken of because it only brings pain. And sometimes anger, which you can fool yourself into thinking is easier to bear than pain. Pepa guards her heart with a handful of stories and old grudges unearthed from decades ago. Mamá never speaks of him at all anymore.

She replays their interactions in her mind, searching for some pivitol moment her vast guilt can cling to, but she can never find one. Perhaps nothing had been wrong until that night when so many things went wrong, when Julieta held her sobbing daughter and wondered what sort of miracle has the nerve to deem her child unworthy.

Or perhaps everything had been wrong, in so many small ways and for such a long time, that they all failed to notice.

Perhaps she had failed Bruno in every moment, every shared conversation that led to his gradual self-isolation and abrupt disappearance. Perhaps she had said too little, or too much.

She doesn't always know what to do with wounds she cannot heal. They make her feel powerless.

Julieta tries to fix this with all the love she can muster as she watches Mirabel grow up and, despite her efforts, grow apart from the family. Sometimes Julieta doesn't get the balance quite right. Doesn't always know what her children need most from her, or when. She wants to believe that they know they can talk to her about anything.

But when she looks at Mirabel, sometimes, it's too easy to imagine her slipping through the cracks, like he did. When she looks at Isabela and Luisa, she sees a mirror; two young women with good hearts, who would pick up the pieces and carry on, like she always has.

She is just so afraid of losing anyone else.

#encanto #julieta madrigal #character study? fic? i dunno. sure

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loafslibrary · 3 years

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Burn - Bruno Madrigal X Reader (Part 2)

Part 1

Word count:

5960 words

Description:

Alma approaches the Ruiz family in the market about Bruno’s vision of his and their daughters marriage.

It doesn’t go well to say the least.

But when all hope is lost, the family are visited by the last person they expect to see.

Her...

Theme/Category:

Slow burn, angst, romance, star-crossed lovers?, pining

Warnings:

Sexual/+18 content mentioned and to come in later chapters, judgemental family members, profanity, mentions of pregnancy.

Authors Note/s:

Thank you so much for the support of the first chapter! I’m having so much fun writing this! Now that I am taking my time to write these and I’m not sticking to a schedule I’m very happy with how my writing is now!

Also, I have set up a ko-fi ( Ko-fi.com/loafslibrary ) if you would like to donate/tip me for my work. It is never expected, but it will always be appreciated!

Previously mentioned: I’m not Colombian, so I apologise if I get any phrases or cultural points wrong, I have tried my best and done research while writing theses chapters, but if anything is wrong I do apologise.

Reader in this uses she/her pronouns and is AFAB

- 🍞

Eye meets in that short instant

The moment all senses stop

Little tremors spread inside me

For the first time I am swallowed by the feeling

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Mi Mariposa,

I can still remember the first time I saw you. How I’d thought I’d gone to heaven, because Infront of me was an angel. Someone so perfect, I was sure I wasn’t worthy of your love. Even now I must question if I truly deserve someone as special as you.

How I long to have you in my arms, to kiss you. I wish to be by your side every second of every day just in order to bask in your beautiful glow. Mi vida, you have no idea how much my soul yearns for you.

You make me feel as though I’m living in a dream. A dream I never wish to wake up from.

I wish to have you here with me now, so I could tell you this in person.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The extended olive branch of peace hadn’t gone as smoothly as the family had hoped.

When Alma originally approached the family in the market with the proposal of an arranged marriage between their daughter and Bruno, Santino Ruiz had almost lost his cool.

“So, now our family name is good enough?”, he had scoffed, not even looking the woman in the eyes. Sofía, his wife, had smacked his shoulder, scolding him to at least be civil with the woman after everything they had done for their community.

“I’m sorry Alma, my husband-“, she began to stutter out apologies. Sofía was a sweet woman. She always had been. It just so happened that the man she had fallen in love with wasn’t.

“It’s okay Sofía, I understand that I’ve hurt him in the past”, she soothed, taking the smaller woman’s hands in her own with an understanding smile. The slightly younger woman smiled back as a silent thank you, her eyes wrinkling at the corners as age had begun to catch up with her youthful looks, while her husband tutted and looked the other way. Alma remembered her from before the Encanto, before her and Santino had married. She had always been the quiet and shy type growing up. Alma remembered how Sofía had looked up to her; asking how the older girl thought she should style her hair, doing the same activities as her, always staying close by at any festivals.

“So, why our daughter?”, She asked.

“My Bruntio used his gift and had a vision. The vision showed him marrying your daughter and the two of them living a beautiful life together”. Sofía swooned at the news, the whole idea already sounding more romantic than anything she had ever heard. “The vision promised prosperity, good health, grandchildren-“, Sofía audibly gasped, a wide smile spreading across her lips. This sounded like a fairy tale to her; her daughter marrying into the most powerful family in the Encanto, the pair being happy and showered in blessings, it was more than she could have ever asked for. For her daughter to live a happy and healthy life. What Alma was saying had completely captivated her, so much to the point where she hadn’t even noticed her husband’s building rage until it was too late.

“I will not have your son dirtying our bloodline!”, he spat, standing tall over the two women. “That boy is a bad omen. I highly doubt he saw all these things in his vision. It’s probably all just a lie to get someone to marry him, since no one else wants to marry that pendejo”. Alma flinched in shock and Sofía’s eyes widened at her husband’s comment.

“Santino! Don’t say that! You’re making a scene”.

“Escúchame Sofía, what can that boy offer her? She would be limited in life if she married him! And should they have children- No lo permita dios- They would be every bit as much of a freak as their father!”. The man’s shoulders were tense, his breaths heavier than usual, clearly and truly bothered by this conversation. He took his wife gently by the elbow and began to guide her away from the market and the matriarch of the Madrigals.

“They are not freaks, Santino. Their gifts are blessings! Look at our community! Look at what they’ve all done for us!”, Sofía pleaded for her husband to open his eyes, gesturing around them at the bustling community. “We are thriving thanks to the Madrigals”.

“And how has Bruno helped?”, he snapped back. His wife wouldn’t often stand up to him, but she knew in her mind and in her heart that he was wrong.

“He has helped to keep us safe and out of danger with his visions! He has allowed us to spend time with our loved ones when there wasn’t much time left! And now he has told Alma that there is a possibility for our daughter to have the honour of being part of their amazing family! So why can’t you open your heart and forgive the past-”, Sofía then flinched as her husband stood in front of her, blocking their path and glowering down his nose at her.

“Don’t you dare insult me like that!”. This now caused some others at the market to turn their head, wanting to know what this sudden outburst was all about. Sofía couldn’t blame them, it was a small village and people wanted something to talk about. Noticing this, Santino cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “We’ll discuss this when we get home Sofía, I don’t want the whole Encanto listening in on our conversation”. With that, he left and began walking in the direction of their house.

Sofía’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat. She turned to Alma with sad apologetic eyes. “Alma, lo siento. I wish he would learn-…”, she sighed, rubbing her eyes in irritation, attempting to distract herself from the drama that had just unfolded.

“It’s okay Sofía. Brunito’s prophecies always come true. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually”, Alma’s eyes met the other woman’s finally. They exchanged a silent thank you to one another; Sofia’s being a thank you for extending such an offer to her daughter and their family, Alma’s being a thank you for someone other than her familia standing up for Bruno for once. “Give him time, Chica”. The younger mother nodded, and with that, the two went their separate ways.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

I can’t go back to the way it was

You didn’t know me, After I bumped into you

I become craving you more,

Uncontrollably

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It had been three days.

Three days since that fiasco with the Ruiz family.

The Madrigals had noticed a few murmurs and whispers throughout the Encanto of a possible engagement involving the youngest of the triplets. Nothing scandalous, nothing more than ripples in their calm ocean. Yet they all still hoped that those ripples didn’t grow into waves, or anything worse.

Bruno had reverted back to his usual self, that flicker of hope that he was so desperately clinging onto, the flicker of hope that Julieta and the rest of the family wanted to see ignite into something more, was now burning out. For the past two days he hadn’t left his room other than to eat. He had two visitors the other day, asking for visions. One left after noticing the number of stairs leading to where the male resided, and the other left more confused than when they had entered. That had been the only communication Bruno had had with the outside world since the incident.

“I can’t say I’m surprised”, Pepa lamented as she sipped her espresso, a small grey cloud forming over her head. The two couples of the family were sat outside enjoying the sunshine while they had the chance. “I just knew Santino wouldn’t give him a chance”, she muttered into her cup.

“I thought you didn’t want him to pursue the Ruiz, yet you’re sounding a little disappointed Pepa”, Agustín pointed out with a teasing grin, pushing his glasses up his nose to prevent them from slipping of his face and into his own drink.

“Because I knew this would happen”, she corrected him, taking another sip of her drink. “This is the last thing Bruno needs right now”.

“Chico’s been even quieter than usual” Félix joined the conversation, a scowl settling across his brows, which looked out of place on his usually happy features. “I tried talking to him about it all, but he insisted he was okay and to not worry”. Félix shook his head. Despite not being a blood relative and finding the younger man a little unsettling at times with some of his visions, he saw Bruno as a younger brother. All he wanted was the best for him, like the rest of the family.

Pepa let out a groan of frustration and massaged her temples, eyes closed as she tried to focus on not creating a thunderstorm. “He may have ruined my wedding- and believe me, I will not let that go, but he is my brother. I still want him to be happy and the Ruiz family is not what will bring him happiness”. Julieta bit her lip in thought as she listened to her sister. Perhapse she was right? Maybe instead of encouraging this vision they should try to stomp it out. Brush it under the rug and pretend it never happened. But any time she thought of telling Bruno to ignore the vision and try to change fate, her heart clenched. The memories of how optimistic he had looks and how he had smiled when looking at the vision, as though he were already in love with the woman in the vison.

Agustín noticed his wife’s distress and gently too her hand in his own under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She looked over to him, noticing the love in his gaze that still gave her butterflies. “Bruno’s visions have never been wrong before. Perhaps we just need to give this one some time”, Agustín reassured the group. He always knew what to say to put Julieta’s nerves to rest.

“Let’s discuss something else”, Pepa waved her hand, signalling the group to move onto another topic. She was the one to usually determine how the conversations progressed out of fear of possibly flooding the Encanto with a down pour of rain or a sudden hurricane making its way through the village due to a bad conversation topic. “So, have the two of you thought about children yet?”, she asked, glancing between her sister and Agustín as she leant forward on the table, eager to hear their response. “You know how I’ve always wanted to be Tía Pepa”.

The couple exchanged glances, unsure on how to respond. They hadn’t given it much thought. For now, they were just enjoying being in love, being married. They were just enjoying their lives. Obviously, they had thought about children, and how could they not when Alma was so desperate to become an abuela. Yet, they were in no rush to have children. “Well, we’ve… thought about it”, Agustín chuckled awkwardly, feeling a little put on the spot with Pepa’s question. “Perhaps two or three would be nice”.

“We’ve also thought about three, maybe four”, Félix winked Pepa’s way, causing her to flush and the sun to shine brighter. Julieta couldn’t help but giggle at her sisters reaction to Félix’s goofy antics. Pepa was fanning herself in order to cool her flustered state when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye, and her jaw dropped.

It took a moment for the others to follow the woman’s line of sight, but before long their eyes also settled on what was causing the sister to stare slack jawed into the distance.

It was her. The woman from Bruno’s vision.

She herself was a vision and no one could deny that.

She wore a burgundy long skirt that was embroidered with red carnations with jade green stems, leaves and vines which fluttered elegantly in the breeze as she approached the casita. Her white shirt had matching green trimming with sleeves that came down to her elbows and she wore simple pearl drop earrings. She was prettier in person than in the vision.

“Is that-…”, Félix began, wanting to make sure he was seeing who he thought it was, and that he and the rest of the family weren’t having some sort of strange fever dreaming.

“That’s her”, Julieta stood up out of her seat, buzzing with excitement. What was she doing here? Was she here to see Bruno? She must be here to see Bruno! What else would she be here for?

The young woman’s attention turned from the castita to the family sitting on the patio, a little stunned to notice everyone staring at her.

So that’s why she had felt she was being watched.

It almost felt as though she were a main performer at a carnival. She cautiously made her way over to where the family sat at their table, fiddling with her fingers nervously as she grew closer and closer. “Hola, mucho gusto”, she greeted with a nervous smile. She could already feel her palms growing sweaty and her mouth going dry, and she couldn’t help but mentally curse for pushing herself into this situation. She noted the wide eyes and silence in response to her greeting, knowing she was probably the last person the Madrigals expected to see after hearing of her father’s outburst in the market. “I’m here to see Bruno, and possibly speak with your mother, Señora Alma Madrigal?”.

“A-Ah! Yes! Of course!”, Julieta stuttered out springing into action, quickly followed by the others who did the same, Agustín almost knocking over the table in the process. “Please, have a seat! We’ll fetch Bruno. Would you like anything to eat? Perhaps a drink?”, the eldest triplet offered as casita pulled out a chair for the lady. Before the Ruiz could respond, Julieta was already heading to the kitchen to retrieve some coffee for her.

Meanwhile, the others had sprinted into the home, looking as if they had all gone mad. “I’ll find Mamá. You two get Bruno. Vamos!”, Pepa ordered before the trio charged up their stairs and split off in separate directions; Agustín and Félix heading straight for Bruno’s tower.

The pair burst through the door, sending a loud bang echoing through the cave, causing the man they were searching for to practically jump out of his skin. “Bruno!”, they both yelled out, scrambling for the multiple flights of stone stairs. “Bruno!”, they continued to call, already panting heavily as they tried their best to make it up as many of the steps as they could, Félix falling behind slightly while Agustín charged full steam ahead. Finally, Bruno appeared at the top of the stairs, looking sick with worry, expecting the worst of news due to the state they were both in.

“Que esta pasando?”, he asked as he began to descend the stairs, being able to take multiple steps at a time due to making the same trip day in and day out. His body and muscle memory taking over on instinct to prevent him from slipping.

“She’s here! She’s here!- To see you!”, they panted heavily.

“Wait-wait-wait! Who’s here?”.

That was when he heard her name once again and he felt every one of his hairs stand on end, like an electric current was sent through his entire being.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

As if I have dreamed in a dream

I’m lost looking for you

You are the dream I live in, the dream I can never awake from

Every day and night I’m gon’ chase you

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

From there, it felt like the three men were kicked into overdrive.

They all practically threw themselves down the stairs, eventually making it safely to the bottom. They threw open the door to Bruno’s room, getting temporarily stuck as they all attempted to squeeze through the doorframe at once in their over excited state. They hurried along the hall and down the stairs before Félix without warning grabbed Bruno by the hood of his ruana, causing him to choke slightly and to fall to the floor at the sudden halt of movement. “You can’t let her see you like that! You’ve got to look more presentable!”, he scolded and began to wrack his fingers through the others loose ringlets, causing the younger male to wince and yelp in pain, batting the other’s hand away.

“And what about those bags under your eyes?”, Agustín added, stroking his chin in thought, before trying to press his fingers into the skin under his eyes and massage the dark circles away. “Maybe this will help”, the thought out loud.

“You two aren’t helping”, Bruno grumbled, finally breaking free from his two brothers grasps.

“What are you three doing?”, Alma’s voice made their spines straighten, each of them turning to her and standing to attention like soldiers. “Brunito, you don’t want to keep her waiting”, she brushed a few curls out of his face before her hand rested on her son’s cheek before using a pout to point in the direction leading outside to where she sat with his sisters. Bruno smoothed out his clothes, having been practically tackled by his cuñados, before taking a deep breath and heading to where he could hear the group’s voices coming from.

Hers stood out to him instantly, like a glistening emerald pendant. He couldn’t even see her, yet he already found her perfect. Perhaps he was getting a little carried away. He needed to calm down. He took another deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hands in hopes to distract himself from his growing nerves. This only added to his nerves when he noticed how sweaty his hands had become. Why was he so sweaty? What if she wanted to hold his hand?!

As he made his way outside, he first noticed his sisters; Pepa leaning back in her chair, her eyes narrowed and her gaze intense as she stared down her nose at the other. She usually did this when talking to someone she disliked, yet she seemed to be giving her a chance, which Bruno would take as a positive any day of the week. Julieta on the other hand was chatting away, giggling and laughing, making small talk in order to make the newcomer feel welcome. She was always good at making others feel welcome- feel wanted, which was one of the many reasons why Bruno loved his sister.

And then he saw her. In the flesh. She was real.

Her eyes flited up and met his and he could feel his throat tighten, for a moment, he was breathless. The sun kissed her skin, highlighting all her features, every pore, every minor detail, and everything about her was beautiful. Everything felt surreal. It was like a dream. He didn’t expect to ever be face-to-face with the girl of his vision, his dream partner, or at least, this is who she was supposed to be.

The two stood in silence, both a little stunned finally being in each other’s presence, mouths slightly agape in shock as if one were about to say something but thought better of it.

This caused the family to smile; Julieta giggling softly as she looked over to her sister and mother in excitement, whereas Agustín nudged Félix, both of them laughing silently together as the fact that they had never seen their brother-in-law act this way around a woman. The Ruiz noticed the other’s reactions at the fact that they had just been gawking at each other in front of everyone, and quickly averted her gaze with a crimson blush spreading across her cheeks. Noticing her flustered state though only made Bruno’s heart race.

“Ay dios, eres tan hermosa”, he foolishly forgot himself and muttered under his breath, only for it to be his turn to flush a deep red as he realised, he had said that out loud. Thankfully, it seemed to be quiet enough for no one else to hear.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, dear”, Alma took the lead in the conversation since it currently seemed as though her son couldn’t string a sentence together in his dazed state. Each member took a seat at the table, purposely leaving the seat next to the Ruiz open for Bruno. He quickly sat himself down upon noticing the rest of the family doing so, glancing to his side to catch a glimpse of her. He didn’t want to be rude or stare, but he couldn’t help but want to look at her. “I’m assuming you’re hear about the engagement!”, Alma urged on the conversation.

Bruno swallowed thickly, his Adams apple bobbing with the motion, and he tried to breathe as evenly as he could. He didn’t want to appear nervous, but right now he couldn’t stop the subtle bouncing of his leg that was giving him away. He was glad this was hidden beneath the table, out of sight. Though he didn’t seem to be the only anxious one at the table. Glancing over to his side, he noticed the Ruiz’s hands clutching and fiddling with her skirt. It was just out of sight of everyone else, but knowing she felt the same was somewhat comforting. He knew he was not alone.

“Ah, yes. The engagement”, she began softly, with a small smile. “First of all, I would like to apologize for my father’s behaviour”. Upon hearing this, Pepa’s eyebrows shot up to the point the family thought they would end up in her hairline. “What he said was unkind to say the least and I want you to know that it was unacceptable and I’m sorry for him acting in such a way”.

“A Ruiz apologising… I never thought I’d see the day”, Pepa mumbled to herself causing Félix to laugh and nudge her shoulder playfully, earning a gentle eyeroll and a small smirk in return. It was a silent ‘I may have been too quick to judge’.

“Ah, well, we appreciate and accept your apology”, Alma beamed, briefly looking to the rest of the family before turning her attention back to the woman next to her son. “And since you’re here, I’m assuming your father has agreed to your marriage?”, she asked, guesturing between the two.

“Well, not exactly…he’s still considering”, she confessed, looking down at the tablecloth, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone at the table. “But my mother has given her blessing”. Alma nodded her head, showing her understanding of the situation, the rest of the family just staring on in shock. “I guess today I’m hear because I would like to get to know Bruno a little better before we make any final decisions”, she stated clearly before finally turning to address the man next to her for the first time; “If that’s okay with you of course, Bruno”.

The way she said his name put him in a trance. He didn’t know his name could sound so sweet. His hazel eyes stared at her for a moment, forgetting that it was him who she was addressing, before blinking a few times to ground himself back into reality. “Oh! Me? - I mean- Of course!”, he stammered, offering a smile which his sisters picked up on. It wasn’t his usual sad or pained smile that they would often see while he tried to save face with the village people or the few times he was witnessing other’s good fortune in the visions they had asked for. This smile was like a breath of fresh air. It was shy. It was somewhat vulnerable. It was genuine.

Their guest couldn’t help the corners of her lips curling up to match Bruno’s expression, averting her gaze as she could feel her cheeks growing warm again.

Alma couldn’t say she was too pleased at the news of the two wanting to get to know each other before agreeing to their marriage. She was growing impatient as Bruno was nearing thirty and was still unmarried, as well as her still did not having a single grandchild weighing on her mind. But she would allow it. This vision showed the two being happily married together, so she was sure they would happily accept the marriage offer soon. “I don’t see why not. It will be good to spend some time together, to lessen the nerves before the engagement”, Alma agreed.

Upon hearing this, Bruno noticed Ruiz’s muscles relax, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she let out a breath she seemed to be holding for who knows how long. It was sweet. Somewhat endearing. He liked the fact that she wanted to actually know who he was, instead of making assumptions about him through the rumours and lies the Encanto told about him. It made him feel like she wanted to marry him for more than just the magic their children would inherit. Like she wanted to marry him for who he was. “So, tell me, what is it that you do in the Encanto? I’m aware your father builds houses for a living. I must say, your family’s home is very impressive”, Alma then interjected, steering the conversation back to how their marriage would benefit each other and the community.

“Well, from time to time I help design the layouts of the houses and help with the interior, but my true passion is the arts”, the young woman confessed, a little embarrassed as she knew her strengths weren’t necessarily seen as useful. Although Bruno’s ears perked up at the mention of this. “I love to paint murals for people in the community, I also like to write stories in my free time. During festivals I enjoy singing and dancing”, she began to ramble on, her very being practically glowing with love for her hobbies, before she caught herself, shrinking back a little as she worried that she was leaving a bad impression. “Ah, but they are just what I do when I’m not helping the family business”

“That sounds wonderful! You’re like a social butterfly with how you engage with the community”, Julieta complimented their guest, Alma nodding along in approval as she thought this possible newcomer to the family may help to bring Bruno out of his shell a little more. He had always been such a shy boy and with his gift and how the people of the Encanto spoke about him, it had only made him recede more into himself.

The Ruiz flashed a tight smile in response. “Muchas gracias. Although I do enjoy time to myself too. I believe it’s important to find a healthy balance between the two”.

“Such wise words. And how old are you?”, Alma continued with her questions, wanting to gain as much information on her son’s possible future bride. She wanted to guarantee that this vision Bruno had wasn’t false and that this engagement wasn’t going to be a waste of time. She wanted to know that this woman would be the perfect match for her son.

“I’m twenty-two”. Her response caused Bruno’s breath to catch in his throat for a moment. There was a six-year age gap. He didn’t mind so much. It could have been worse. But he couldn’t help his mind jumping ahead of time and thinking of how he would soon start to age. His hair would begin to grey, his skin would start to wrinkle, not to mention he already had bags under his eyes from multiple sleepless nights. He didn’t want to have to burden a beautiful woman like her with being with an older man. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind? She seemed interested in the engagement. “I’m surprised you haven’t married yet. Bruno, aren’t you surprised that a man hasn’t asked for her hand in marriage?”, his mother’s words brought him crashing back down to earth.

The table was watching him, eagerly awaiting his response. It was clear that his mother had noticed his lack of confidence and how he had barely said anything to the woman since she got here. The woman to his side’s cheeks began burning a deep shade of red. Which his own then seemed to match as he floundered to compliment her and make conversation.

“O-Of course I’m surprised”, the seer agreed with his mother, trying his best to look the woman in the eyes as he spoke. “I mean, you’re very beautiful. Any man would be lucky to call you his wife”, he mumbled, his heart pounding against his ribs as he dragged his fingers through his curls.

‘Pull yourself together Bruno! You’re a mess!’

His heart stopped for a second as he heard a soft, “And any woman would be lucky to call you her husband”, and then his heart practically melted.

‘Dios mio, ella es perfecto’

His mother and relatives smiled proudly at the simple interaction; Felix squeezed Pepa’s hand and gave her a nod of approval, signalling that he approved of the union, and Julieta looked to Agustín with a giddy grin of excitement. They were so excited, practically bursting with pride for Bruno. Upon noticing this though, Bruno could feel a knot forming in his stomach.

‘Don’t mess this up, Bruno’

Simple conversations continued to flow into the late afternoon. Questions on how the Ruiz planned to further help the community if she were to marry into the Madrigal family, how long did she think it would be until she could get the approval of her father, when the wedding should take place if the engagement were accepted, etc. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits as a warm sunset washed over the Encanto.

“Brunito, it’s getting late. Why don’t you walk our guest home to make sure she returns safely”, Alma suggested to which her son nodded in response with a tight smile, slightly nervous at the idea of being alone with the Ruiz daughter, but also relieved he would be able to speak to her without the pressure of his family watching. He was sure they could both do with five minutes away from everyone, where they weren’t on edge thinking every other question to come out of their mouth would be about how many children they wanted or his mother possibly commenting on how they should abstain from sex until marriage.

Alma stood up from her seat and made her way over to the two. She took the young woman by the hands and gently held them in her own. “You seem like such a sweet girl. I’m sure you would make my Brunito proud to call you his wife. I’m sure if your parents are to accept the engagement offer, you and my son with live a life full of blessings and prosperity”.

“Gracias Señora. Thank you all for being such generous hosts”, the Ruiz thanked the Madrigals before Bruno cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

I’m in love

I’m dreaming in a dream every night

I’m in love

I’m dreaming in a dream every night

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The walk through the village was a little awkward to begin, both parties not knowing how to strike up a conversation with the other. They knew little to nothing about each other yet had this prophecy of their engagement looming over them. It was daunting to say the least.

As they walked through the streets, the Madrigal couldn’t help but notice the curious eyes that watched them from a distance. Whispers of surprise flitted in and out of earshot, talking about how they were surprised to see the two together, which only caused the seer to grow more tense… until a thought hit him.

He remembered Agustín mentioning that the woman liked the arts, as well as recalling what she had said at the table.

“So, you like the arts?”, he finally broke the lingering silence, which instantly captured her attention.

“Yes, I do”, she giggled a little awkwardly, feeling silly for talking about her passions but yet she was happy that one of them had finally decided to speak up, easing the tension that hung in the air. “Do you?”.

At this question, Bruno’s spirits began to rise. “Yes, I do. I love to write when I get the chance”, he explained with that genuine smile that seemed to grace his features a lot more frequently. “I enjoy singing and music too, although I am not the best. I’m not so good with dancing though. Perhaps I could be better with some practice”, he mumbled the last part. His sisters were beautiful dancers. Every festival, every party, they were dancing up a storm. Yet he seemed to be a little clumsier with his movements and often stuck to the side-lines. That or the moves just didn’t look right when he tried it.

“Perhaps I could help you with the dancing?”, she offered, which caught Bruno by surprise. “I’d also love to exchange stories with you and see how you write. I enjoy dramas, romances, horror and comedy”.

“That’s an interesting mixture”, Bruno noted with a small chuckle which she then seemed to mirror with one of her own. “And yeah… that sounds quite nice actually”.

Before long, the pair had reached the Ruiz house on the edge of the village.

“Well, here we are! La casa de Ruiz!”, he announced in a somewhat goofy tone, causing the other to laugh a little, and oh how her laugh was music to his ears.

“Thank you for walking me home, Bruno. I’m excited to learn more about you”, she revealed, playing with her hands nervously as she spoke, which Bruno then noticed he was mirroring her movements with his own hands, stopping once he noticed.

“I’m excited to learn more about you too…”, he trailed off, leaving them both standing in silence, not knowing what to say but desperately wanting to continue the conversation.

She began to turn towards the door to her home. “Well, I guess I’ll let you go-“.

“Would you like to see me tomorrow? I-I mean, would you like me to- I would very much like to see you again-“, Bruno cringed at his rambling. His mouth had begun moving before he could even truly think of what he wanted to say. He took a breath and tried to arrange his thoughts and think logically, but that was near impossibly when she was around. “Would you like to meet me tomorrow afternoon?”.

Bruno’s eyes met with her own once again and he felt- for a lack of better words- helpless. He wanted this to work, with every fibre of his being. He wanted to try for her. There was just something about her that made him want to try. She was so beautiful and gave off such a kind-hearted aura. He didn’t want to miss this opportunity.

He noticed how she bit her lip in thought for a brief moment before a smile graced her features once more. The sight of her smile gave him butterflies and he cursed himself, wondering if a man should fall for a woman so quickly.

“Yes, I’d actually really like that. Shall we meet buy the church just past mid-day?’, she offered with such a sweet tone to her voice, like honey, that Bruno felt as though he could completely fall in love with her at any second.

His heart began to hammer with excitement.

“Yes!”, he agreed a little too quickly. “I-I mean, that sounds great”, he added in a calmer tone, smoothing out his ruana as a distraction for his eagerness. The couple stared at each other for a moment, cheeks aglow and their nerves mixed with excitement struggling to be hidden.

“Perfecto! It’s a date!”.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Tag list: @simpingfortheratman @danny-devitowo

#bruno madrigal #bruno x reader #bruno madrigal x reader #encanto bruno #Encanto #Encanto x reader #disney encanto #encanto disney

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alethiometry · 4 years

Text

thinkin about an alternate take on odyssey’s cult of kosmos storyline that may culminate in a blatant ripoff of valhalla but bear with me here lmao

instead of deimos continually antagonizing you the entire game as you try desperately to convince them that the cult is simply using them, deimos is actively trying to recruit you to fight alongside them. you are both demigods descended from sparta’s greatest hero, two sides of the same coin, etc. etc. as you go around killing cultists you get those cutscenes where each cultist gets to have one final say (just like all the other ac games) and while many joined and profited from the war for selfish reasons, there are enough of those who had lofty ideals that maybe you start to see that the two warring nations are both truly broken beyond repair. people are suffering because of the war, and for every callous profiteer that joined the cult to make a quick buck there’s also someone who joined just to survive, or because if you can’t beat em, join em -- at the least, they could then maybe stand a chance at protecting the people they love, even if it means others will have to pay that price. that’s just the way the world works, right?

and so after the battle of amphipolis and after killing the rest of the cult, you return to the cave of gaia in delphi and find not only deimos but also the ghost of kosmos down there, in front of the pyramid. deimos is still nursing his wounds from where kleon shot him, and the ghost finally unveils herself. both get their villain-y monologues about how it’s all for the greater good, everyone who died along the way was sacrificing themselves for a better world and the world will remember what they did -- but that will only happen if you join them. if you’re there to make sure they mattered. and the pyramid with its weird little artifacts still draws you in like it did that first night you infiltrated their meeting, and you and deimos and the ghost all touch it and you all get teleported via videogame magic or isu technology or whatever the fuck who cares it’s just a stupid scifi game let me live to...

atlantis?

it’s the exact same look and feel as the dlc: humans and gods living in (apparent) harmony, people are happy, families are together, there’s laughter and music and plenty of food and leisure. the buildings are gorgeous, there’s like fountains and gardens and aquariums and other cool shit, and if not for the weird isu tech all over the place you’d almost think it was elysium. but it’s not elysium, because you’re not dead. deimos isn’t dead. and you’ve never felt more at peace. the ghost tells you that this is all perfectly achievable, if only you join them in helping construct this world from the ashes of the old. deimos tells you that they’ve seen this in their dreams; the world was truly like this once, and it could be again.

there’s no war to be fought here; no pain or suffering or loss. deimos sheathes their sword and tells you that they cannot just go back to being family in the real world, not after everything that has happened and all the suffering you both have experienced -- out in the real world, you were both doomed to be nothing more than shattered bones and streaks of gore at the foot of sparta’s sacred mountain. you don’t matter out there, and you never did, and they know you are tired of trying to prove that you do, because they’re tired too. but in here, in this world, you could be together. you could be the siblings you never got the chance to be. this is what they were fighting for all along. they gave their name, and their life, and their innocence and their pain -- all to achieve this. and with your help they can finally stop calling themself deimos and reclaim their old name. or the two of you could find new names. you could be gods. you could slaughter the old gods, the ones whose prophecies doomed you both to die at the foot of mount taygetos (deimos still doesn’t know the cult orchestrated that lmao listen the brainwashing runs deep). you could be anyone you want here.

all of this feels so real. you feel like you could stay here forever.

deimos extends their hand. you reach out to take it. to join them.

and something tumbles out of your pouch.

it’s a little wooden eagle, a child’s toy, battered and all scratched up with most of its defining features worn away. you know it well. you know every contour of it because a little girl gave it to you when you left the island where you and she once lived, to go make a name for yourself in a war that never seemed to end, until suddenly it did. you know this toy eagle because you folded that little girl’s cold, dead, still-bloody fingers around it one terrible night in athens. you were told, later, that the eagle burned with her on the pyre your friends constructed for her. and so the only reason this eagle is here now, the only reason you can run your hands along its outstretched wings and trace the whorls of the woodgrain with your fingertips and feel the slight weight of it in your palm is because none of this is real.

what is real is this: the cult existed, and phoibe died. leonidas died. perikles died. brasidas died. and you cannot live in a world where the very act of dying for the world they didn’t know they were helping to shape is the one thing that becomes the defining feature of their legacies. where their lives become nothing more than some kind of grotesque buttressing to prop up the very people who got them all killed.

there’s some kind of bossfight against deimos, who, despite their appeals to you to join them as a battlefield companion and true siblings after too many years lost between you, still doesn’t hesitate to turn against you as they always have the moment things do not go their way. because that’s the way it is between the two of you: they push, and you push back.

and the more you fight, the more atlantis crumbles. the others don’t seem to notice; they simply sit there and laugh and sip wine and dance and sing as stone after stone falls from the vast turrets and crushes first their companions, then them, into blood and bone and gristle. there’s a gate up on the highest tower of the city, and you know instinctively that without it you’ll be stuck here in this strange dream-limbo, fighting your sibling for eternity as both worlds, dream and real, carry on with or without you. and as you make your way to it (maybe there’s some sweet parkour opportunities here with like falling debris and such) deimos gives chase and as you draw closer to the gate you start to see that it’s not empty at all, but full of people crowing in to take a peek at all the commotion.

there’s sokrates and hippokrates and aristophanes. alkibiades looking uncharacteristically worried, and [insert any npc lieutentants you’ve recruited like roxana or odessa]. xenia is there, and so is anthousa. kyra and/or thaletas, too (depending on the outcome of the mykonos questline). and a gang of plucky little kids, all cheering you on: khloe, the girl with the clay friends; arsenios, the tour-guide-turned-con-artist; ardos and his caretaker. (and i guess nikolaos and stentor if they’re still alive lmao) (maybe pythagoras is allowed too but he’s on thin fucking ice)

and, of course, myrrine. standing at the forefront, shoulder to shoulder with barnabas and herodotos. all three of them -- alongside everyone else you’ve ever allied with, fought beside, or helped out -- everyone who loves you, everyone you’ve ever loved -- they’re beckoning you home. back to the real world, where they matter. where you matter.

where you have always mattered.

you’re so close to taking your mother’s hand, you can feel the warmth of her fingertips -- and then you hear a scream below you.

it’s deimos, and they’re falling. maybe they tripped in their haste to catch you. maybe some of the falling rubble knocked them off-balance. it doesn’t matter. the only thing that matters is that your sibling is falling to their doom. again. and there’s nothing you can do about it.

except this time there definitely is.

so you leap from the ledge with all the strength you have, the roaring in your ears drowning out myrrine’s shouts. you’ve fallen from greater heights, after all, and lived to tell the tale. this is nothing. and this time you’ll catch your sibling, because this is your dream, too. and in your dream, you can do whatever the fuck you want.

you catch deimos, the both of you still falling, the ground rushing up to meet you -- and you both wake in the cave of gaia with a jolt. each of you still have a hand on the pyramid, and you make eye contact. they give you the slightest of nods, as if to say i’m okay. i’m awake.

the ghost is still asleep, head bowed, eyes flitting to and fro behind closed eyelids, both hands still on the pyramid.

you destroy the pyramid with your grandfather’s spear. this wakes the ghost. she’s furious, and tells you that you’ve made a terrible mistake. the cult of kosmos may be extinguished, but the ideals she worked toward are not. (basically this kind of mirrors the whole spiel about the philosopher-king or whatever tf the ghost said at the end of the actual in-game storyline that foreshadowed the order of ancients and eventually the templars)

deimos looks to you and mutters that it’s your choice what to do next. the ghost tries to appeal to them but they’ve run out of fucks to give. they leave.

[kill the ghost] what it says on the label. you get a nice little ac-esque assassination cutscene and it’s actually got some emotional weight to the decision/scene, unlike the game.

[walk away] leave the ghost in the cave. the pyramid is gone, the cult is dead, your sibling is free. the ghost will live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, knowing that the grandchildren of leonidas have seen her for what she is. knowing that whatever she does next, they’ll be watching closely.

when you leave the cave, you see deimos, pacing as they overlook the view of phokis from mount parnassos. it’s high noon and the sun glints brilliantly off their gilded armor. they glance at the temple of apollo and remark how strange it is to be standing here together, so close to the place where both your fates were sealed with just a few words from a puppet pythia a lifetime ago.

you ask what they’re going to do, now that the cult is gone.

the peace of nicias isn’t going to hold, they tell you. the war will start again soon enough, and when that happens both athens and sparta will be looking for champions to fight for their side.

dialogue choices:

[i’ll see you on the battlefield] you and your sibling part ways. subsequent conquest battles have a chance of spawning a bossfight against deimos who is fighting for the other side -- neither of you can perma-kill the other so you can encounter/fight them over and over again. at the end of the conquest battle, no matter who wins, you can see them walking up and down the battlefield and you can have some silly little sibling banter, which changes depending on who wins/loses the battle

[join me, fight with me] deimos joins your crew just like in the game. unlike the game, you can interact with them at any time while they’re walking up and down your ship and have sibling banter because i just want some decent fucking sibling banter in this game

no matter which option you pick, the first time you return to sparta after finishing this storyline you’ll have the option of entering your old family home and triggering the family dinner cutscene with all the surviving members of your family because goddammit even after all this wishful revisionism i still love that silly little family dinner

anyway in conclusion this is what i want out of odyssey, thanks for coming to my TED talk, don’t forget to smash that like&subscribe the way the eagle bearer definitely smashed brasidas’ fine spartan ass offscreen bc ubisoft were too smoothbrained to give us the romance we deserved

#tuserautumn #userbryn #assassin's creed #ac odyssey #cool story charlotte #can u tell i listened to 'leaving valhalla' one too many times on loop tonight and have been cryin in the club @ that doorway scene #idk fam i just want a remaster/retweaking of odyssey #where all the art direction and the characters and music and general story beats are the same #but with a more coherent narrative that doesn't disintegrate the moment you start prodding at the plot holes #yes i'm fully aware that deimos dies in novel/wiki canon NO i do NOT care. FUCK that. in this version deimos lives #anyway ub*s*ft hmu there's way more odyssey-reboot ideas where this came from and they're all WAY hornier + involve pegging spartan general #better yet just let me buy the fucking franchise already cmon #i've got IDEAS #i mean they're not GOOD ideas but like.#must ideas be good??? is it not enough simply fulfill all the desires in my selfish little gremlin heart????????

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mzminola · 4 years

Text

Thinking about @lullabyknell‘s analysis of how the Deathly Hollows hecked up HP, how to do stuff better, and the questions boiling down to “What do you want to include? Where is this going?” and personal preferences. So okay, here’s my take on a potential redo that includes them:

For starters, I don’t wanna introduce actual after-life-controlling entities to the series, but I do think the Hollows had potential for wizarding cultural worldbuilding, so introduce the story and the idea of them way earlier.

I also think the wand-lore was cool, and was being laid down in Philosopher’s Stone and came back in Goblet of Fire, but didn’t really get used much outside Harry and Voldemort’s duels. We had background issues with Neville’s inherited wand not working well for him (Ron’s own inherited wand did until it got busted). But even while setting up the trail of Elder Wand transfers in earlier books, we didn’t know about it properly until Deathly Hollows, and our only solid practical demonstration was Hermione not being able to use Lestrange’s well because she hadn’t defeated her herself.

Harry Potter is a fantasy mystery series that was mostly book-specific mysteries and only a few overarching ones. Harry was always going to defeat Voldemort, and I think whether it was by a more practical-actions version of “Power of Love” or the string-of-ownership of the Elder Wand needed to be decided earlier and then built up through most of the series.

You can combine them, such as making it super clear that acts of love get Harry into place to use the Elder Wand (which arguably his self sacrifice did, his own love for others, but I do like other characters love for HIM, and not just his dead mom). Or have a divination expert go “Oh yeah, the Prophecy already got fulfilled when your mom protected you, you’re destiny-free now, just kick Riddle in the junk.”

Or maybe by having someone else who got the Elder Wand ownership explicitly giving Harry their normal wand because he lost his. A combination of “I love you, I will give up my own weapon so you can protect yourself” and “Harry is their Champion” because that’s a thing and it’s a cool thing that I like. Come on, the boy was Champion of Hogwarts.

(I would be verklempt if it was McGonagall to do this.)

You know where the perfect place to introduce wand ownership transferring by battle is? Chamber of Secrets. They had a dueling club! It didn’t last, but they had it, and a spate of “Hey, my wand is acting up! Why is that?” after the first meeting when dozens of students disarmed each other (or failed to) is a great intro!

You can set up “you have to win it back” (students agreeing to duel secretly, or maybe the club having a second meeting to facilitate it) or the idea of peaceful returns or loans being possible. Or just sheer “I know I lost this wand but I will keep using it until it remembers me” determination from some students.

Anyway, back to the Deathly Hollows as cultural worldbuilding.

You know what people do with amazing tools? Try to recreate them!

Mention the Hollows offhandedly in the first three books a few times, while also introducing objects that might be them, or are clearly attempts at recreating them. Put the symbol in the margin doodles of an old textbook, or even in the background of Dumbledore’s office (a reminder to himself not to fuck up again, but making him look hella suspicious later).

Put the story itself in Goblet of Fire, when we have the international students. People like Viktor Krum who have a very different view of their symbol than the British wizards. Give us an opening for Ron to tell Harry and Hermione the tale (and the debate whether the Hollows were gifts from Death or were just normal but powerful enchanted objects made by humans).

An opening to learn more about the Grindelwald war, and why Dumbledore is considered such a big fucking deal for defeating him. Some children and grandchildren of survivors sharing family stories to drive in why the older generations are so fucking desperate to stop a second Dark Lord from getting that powerful.

And now once we’ve told the tale of the Three Brothers and their Deathly Hollows, we revisit those introduced objects from the first three books.

Like...the Mirror of Erised! An attempt to view and speak with your lost loved ones like the Stone, but it failed. It shows your heart’s desire, which maybe for the builder was their lost loved ones, but isn’t for other people.

Maybe add other ghost-related objects, like ring that can summon them, or talk to them with summoning them, which the teachers just use to have the castle ghosts help them keep an eye on students.

Rumors that Grindelwald had the Elder Wand! Combo this with the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students being angry about this rumor. “Why do you think he had to have a legendary wand to do evil? Evil is not special.”

Harry’s invisibility cloak. You could have it be passed down through the Potters for generations, and when he asks Sirius he says “Oh yeah, your dad and grandpa used to joke it was a Hollow, but they’re pretty sure it was some skilled ancestor too many generations back to remember who was trying to recreate it.”

Or you could use Lullabyknell’s idea of James Potter crafting the cloak itself, showing his skills tangibly aside from the Map and Animagus transformation, and offering Harry a protection.

(Dumbledore doesn’t even need to have borrowed it, he could have just dug it out of the rubble with some other belongings that survived, and gives Harry a shoebox of magical items when he gets to Hogwarts.)

Okay yep I think that’s the thoughts for now.

#HP tag #Deathly Hollows #fic ideas #series overhaul

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dissident-vedder · 4 years

Text

- breaking the girl ( 𝐀. 𝐊. )

ADD YOURSELF TO MY TAGLIST!

the first and last time they kissed.

INSPIRATIONS - breaking the girl by rhcp and @fanficy-prompts

THIS FIC CONTAINS death (SUICIDE), swearing, sadness/depression.

A/N - layout by @adoresobs!

keeping your head down, the rain beat down on the red raincoat you slipped on that morning, the usually sunny l.a. sky now a dark gray, a cool breeze brushing against your crimson cheeks. your school things were most likely getting wet, but at some point, you stopped caring, much like many other things you once cherished, which now seemed bleak in your reddened eyes. everything was covered in a constant cover of gray, your optimistic outlook on life now turning into those of your mother’s. why hadn’t you said yes to going to jessica’s? why were you the one to find your mother face down in a pool of her own blood? why did she have to take her own life in such a horrendous way? why hadn’t you noticed before?

you shoulders hung with the weight of your guilt despite your family and multiple psychiatrists telling you that you had done nothing wrong. they told you your mother was at fault for not telling you, for not getting the help she needed and deserved, for leaving you behind to live with your grandmother. how you hated to look into your grandmother’s eyes since the day it happened. she tried to be strong for you, you could tell, but once you looked at her, she burst into tears. every time she looked at you, she saw her daughter. your mother’s eyes were your own, and each day she saw the life be sucked out of them much like she saw within your mother’s. she was afraid of losing you too, making appointments with a therapist in order for you to talk about your thoughts, your feelings, but each time, you just brought over a drawing. one that was done in simple India Ink, the graphite of a pencil not dark enough to show your true emotions. you refused to talk, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you would talk about everything and would never shut up.

the more drawings you gave, the more and more the therapist noticed how darker and more obscene they got.

your world was dead.

you envied your aunts, uncles, and cousins for still having their mom, hated the way that your school friends would talk about their parents, how they father gave them this and how their mother gave them that. after christmas break, everyone began talking animatedly about what they received for christmas, whether it was money, a new rotary telephone (one girl got a canary yellow one, just like she wanted), or new clothes. one of your classmates turned to you, “what did your parents give you for christmas?”

how were you going to tell them that your mother committed suicide and your father was an alcoholic who walked out of your life years ago? you just laid your head on your arms, wanting the teacher to begin the lesson so you didn’t have to bear the embarrassment of people bugging you about the presents. yes, you did get presents from your family in order to get your mind of your mom, but it was sort of alright until one of your aunts gave you a perfume bottle, and upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was your mother’s signature scent.

you had run to your room, tears leaving wet tracks on your cheeks, sobs racking through your body as thoughts of your mom brought back painful pangs in your chest, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage. a copy of maya angelou’s i know why the caged bird sings sat on your night table, driving you insane at the orange cover, the black bird in mid-flight. picking it up, you chucked it at the wall, the bookmark flying out from its designated spot. the caged bird doesn’t sing, you thought. the caged bird dies.

for years this continued, the book still on the exact spot it had landed when you threw it, collecting dust as your room stayed in pristine condition. if it weren’t for your family coming over to help you, it would be a pigsty by now. somehow, however, you were able to control your emotions a little better, making the days seem a little easier and more bearable to go through, and the thoughts of your mother’s dead body were pushed to the back of your mind.

in your sophomore year of high school, you had met anthony, a charismatic senior with a crooked smile and a trick up his sleeve. on days where you were not able to control your emotions as well, he held you, letting you cry into the crevice where his shoulder and neck meet, his hands cradling your head and rubbing your back. he managed to make you talk after years of being known as the mute, his little jokes and twisted tales able to rise a small out of your once glued lips. something about him made you feel warm inside. people always said that the person you loved the most will make butterflies come alive in your belly, but you realized that wasn’t the truth for you. every time you thought about or spoke to anthony, your heart swelled even more, leaving you with a euphoric feeling as you held on to either him or the sweatshirt he gave you on an unusually cold day. perhaps it was his nonchalant demeanor or his cocky attitude, or even the musky, vanilla smell that was characteristically him, but every part of you fell in love with him and his existence. he was an angel come to life.

it was his graduation day when he first kissed you. once caps were thrown and pictures were taken, he ran up to you, grabbed your cheeks, and planted his lips on yours. his lips were so soft, in contrast to the muscular body he hid beneath the button-up shirt he wore, you melted into his arms, pressing yourself against him, grabbing on to the lapels of his shirt. you had waited for this day for what? three weeks? six months? a year? no matter how long, you felt all your nerves release as he pulled away, staring at you with such love and adoration, it looked like he was staring at a goddess come to life.

your breaths mingled, brushing softly over the soft skin of your lips, minty as you brought him back in, deprived of something you longed for for a while. this was a seal of your relationship. at some point, you began to wonder if you were just another one of anthony’s playthings, ready to be thrown out the second he got bored of you.

the sun shone brightly on the two of you, a moment of celebration only you two could see.

it was a december when he broke up with you. it was in the year of what? 1995? '96? you didn’t remember, and didn’t want to remember, as your heart continued to break as those last moments replayed in your head like a broken record.

you had been there for him through everything.

when the band was first formed, their first record, their first live national tv performance, hillel’s death, anthony’s sobriety. everything. yet he deemed you no longer important in his life as he broke your heart. somehow, despite your tear-streaked face, he continued to say that he no longer loved you, that he had fallen in love with another. he had kissed you one last time that day. held you close, hands on your cheeks, warming them even more, and you could feel it. there was no more passion left. it seemed like to him, you were an obligation, a setback in life. no longer did his heart beat for you. how could he have fallen in love with another when you had given him everything you had? your virginity, your heart, your mind, your love.

he just took it for himself and now. . . you were being thrown to the streets. god, you didn’t go to college, had no job, no money of your own, purely depending on him, and he gladly supported you through the years, giving you an allowance basically. you had to move in with your grandmother again as you took up classes at the local community college in cyber. . . something. again, you stopped caring about the world. what had you done in order for him to fall out of love with you? you were supportive of his decision, supportive of him when he was going through withdrawal symptoms when he stopped taking drugs, there by his side again when he relapsed, warning him of the consequences and reminding him of his hard work years prior.

laying down on the bed, you took a deep breath as your hand was placed over your heart, imagining the broken pieces still trying to keep you alive. with anthony, the once gray world turned bright again, optimism making every day more bearable until you no longer had to bear it.

underneath you sat the sheets that anthony once slept under, holding you close to his body as the two of you had your usual late-night talks, talking about the future, about one day marrying each other, having children, grandchildren, and growing old together. now, these sheets held tears and broken promises whispered long ago, long when you were still young and a new optimistic.

i know why the caged bird sings stares at you from the floor.

the caged bird does not sing. the caged bird dies.

TAGLIST:

@stateofloveandvedder @state-of-love-and-lust @honeysympathy @grossgold @sea-sxns @d-arknecessities @sideways-falling

#anthony kiedis #anthony kiedis x reader #anthony kiedis imagine #imagine anthony kiedis #fairfax high school!anthony kiedis #1980s!anthony kiedis #1990s!anthony kiedis #rhcp #Red Hot Chili Peppers

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mists-of-hithlum · 4 years

Text

TW: Non-graphic character death

They call her marred.

Finduilas has lived her whole life with those words whispered behind her back, gossiped over when she’s out of the room and sometimes even openly discussed when her family isn’t there to protect her. Her father has told her she should just ignore them.

“They just don’t understand how the Valar work,” he tells her. “Just because you haven’t found your partner on these shores yet, doesn’t mean anything about you. Maybe they haven’t been born yet.” He smiles. “Or you are like your aunt Artanis and your partner waits for you on the other shore. And you wouldn’t call her marred, would you?”

He is right, of course. They are all right. It’s not like their family isn’t the subject of too many rumours already. Her father knows exactly how it feels when people whisper about you behind your back.

But somehow, this is different. It is personal. It is against her, not against the circumstances of her birth or who her grandfather chose as his partner. It isn’t like the rumours the bored nobles of Tirion like to circulate about Indis and what she did to earn a place at Finwe’s side or how Arafinwe’s children and grandchildren shouldn’t count as real Noldor. They hurt too, of course, but when they call her, Finduilas, daugther of Artaresto, a flaw in the music, it cuts deeper.

Especially because they are right.

She debates herself over and over if she should ask Fëanaro about the rumours. He is the only other one in the family they single out too. But everytime she is either too afraid of his famous temper or another rumour makes her doubt again. What they say about him is so much worse than what they say to her, so she doesn’t. She shouldn’t trouble him with such trivial things.

When darkness falls over Tirion and flames light up eight swords with their light, Finduilas chooses to go even before her parents have said anything. She feels like she’s suffocating here in Tirion, with the gossip chasing her every step. Marred, seem the stones to whisper. Those blank, white stones without a flaw who mock her even in the pale light of candles and torches. Staying here would be a slow, agonizing death only prolonged by the absence of her family. And maybe, a voice in her head whispers, she’ll finally find her other half on the other shore, like her father told her once.

Not even her mother staying and Arafinwë turning back manage to change her decision.

It doesn’t take long for the rumours to start again.

After that first battle and after Findecano’s daring rescue of Maitimo – Maedhros – the gossips stay quiet about her. There are far more interesting things to discuss. But then comes the Mereth Aderthad.

Her father parades her through the entire feast. She cannot find a better word for it. Of course Finduilas knew he wanted her to find her partner. His absolute conviction that someone is waiting for her and he only needed to find them warms her heart on some days. On others, she wants to scream and smash things. She doesn’t need anybody. No matter what the Valar told them about Eru’s plans, how every elf has someone designated for them, she is whole on her own. But the other elves don’t understand and so she grits her teeth and smiles through a thousand introductions, handshakes and empty words.

Just once she gets a moment to herself. When she leaves her father’s side with the flimsy excuse of wanting something refreshing to drink, she can already hear the rumour mill working again. She snorts. For seemingly immortal beings, the elves are awfully obsessed with every little thing that changes.

“Don’t listen to them.”

It takes her a moment to recover from the unexpected visitor at her quiet little corner.

“Still as observant as always, cousin,” she greets Mai Maedhros and smiles the first real smile since the start of the feast.

Maedhros raises an eyebrow. “You know our family. Being observant is a survival skill here.”

Finduilas laughs and for a moment she can nearly forget about the scars that now mar her favorite cousin’s face and the hand he is missing. It’s like they are back in Valinor, young and carefree, with nothing to fear.

Maedhros’ next words destroy that illusion quite efficiently. “Don’t listen to them. You aren’t marred or tainted by Morgoth, no matter what they say. Believe me, I would know.”

It takes a lot of Finduilas’ self-control to not get up and smash the nearest tent into pieces because she can’t get to Morgoth right now to avenge her cousin. “I’m trying. I know they are wrong, but they just never stop.”

“And they never will,” Maedhros agrees quietly. “But they don’t matter, pitya tuilë. Someone will always gossip about you behind your back. That is the nature of the court. Your conviction is your armour. They don’t get to decide how you live your life.”

Finduilas raises her chin. “They won’t,” she promises.

A flicker of white fire raises its head behind Maedhros’ eyes. “Good,” he says and disappears the next moment back into the guests.

It is the last time she’ll see her cousin alive. Afterward, a part of her is glad she didn’t need to witness his downfall.

“Finduilas! Here you are!”

After Maedhros left, it doesn’t take her father long to find her again.

“I want you to meet somebody.”

Those dreaded words. But as Maedhros told her: Other people’s opinion of her doesn’t matter. It can’t hurt her.”

So she takes her father’s hand and lets herself be led to a handsome young Noldo with eyes grey like stone. The way his eyes never seem to leave her make her want to roll her eyes. Another one to disappoint then.

“This is Gwindor, son of Guilin,” her father introduces him. “He is one of your uncle Finrod’s people. Gwindor, this is my daughter, Finduilas.”

“Descriptions do not do your beauty justice, my princess,” Gwindor greets her. “I am glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you,” Finduilas replies politely instead of a snappy retort.

“In truth, you look like the pools of Ivrin when Arien herself shines on them!”

“It is an honor to meet you, Gwindor,” she answers and the hope in her father’s eyes nearly makes her want to throw up.

Once Gwindor gets over his worship of her – and truly, Finduilas isn0t so beautiful, not compared to her other family members – they get along quite well. She discovers his delightful sense of humour and they have great fun mocking the other members of Findarato’s court behind closed doors. Faelivrin, the name Gwindor gave her on their first meeting, becomes a joke between the two of them.

Her father still hopes she will one day discover that she loved Gwindor all along and Finduilas will have to disappoint him once again. She does love Gwindor. She really does. Just not in the sense her father and everybody else seem to want.

Gwindor is alright with this. It was a long, tearful conversation after Finduilas’ armour finally broke down and she told him everything. He accepts her the way she is and he couldn’t give her anything more. In return, he told her about his partner who died crossing the Helcaraxë and how he wants nothing more than what she’s ready to give him either. They never tell anyone else about those things. Their bond is their own and if others want to assume things, they are free to do so.

And then, the Noldor start to lose.

Aegnor and Angrod die first. Then Celegorm and Curufin come, Finrod gives everything up for a stranger and when the tales from the heroics of Beren and Luthien are sung all over Endor, Nargothrond quietly mourns its king. Her father steps up after his brother, but it is never the same.

When Gwindor leaves with his warriors, Finduilas nearly wants to call him back. She doesn’t. She knows why Gwindor needs to do this. He knows why she can’t be at his side. They don’t owe each other more than the other is ready to give.

They part and he doesn’t return. Finduilas knows he isn’t dead and that makes it worse. Their bond isn’t as strong as a marriage bond, isn’t as solid as one of two people who know their feelings for each other, but it was always there. She feels the pain Gwindor goes through even if he tries to shield her from it and she mourns for the elf he was. Even if through a miracle he gets back, he will never be the same again.

Through it all, only the hope of Gwindor one day returning keeps her going. After everything, the whispers have transformed into sharp-edged things meant to hurt. Her armour is strong, but even an armour can’t protect her from everything. Maedhros’ words have always helped her, but they can’t help her when she blames herself too. Maybe she really is marred. After all, everyone she loves leaves.

The miracle she hoped for goes by the name of Agarwaen and carries himself with the aura of a king.

Finduilas isn’t proud of herself for what she does next. But over the years Gwindor was away, the rumours slowly started to become unbearable and the man is right there. He clearly won’t fall in love with her and even if he somehow will, one day, she won’t have ruined him by pretending to be in love. Humans have more than one option in their lives, her uncle once told her. It still seems strange to her but she won’t complain when she gets such an opportunity.

Her father doesn’t look happy, but at least the rumours stop.

Gwindor doesn’t agree with her, but he understands. After their big argument, when he tells her Turin’s true name, they come to a truce. He still loves her and she still loves him. Their bond once again strenghtens when they decide they don’t need to put a name that doesn’t fit on their relationship. When she (badly) pretends to be in love with the human, Gwindor won’t stand in her way.

And really, she doesn’t truly love him. Maybe that’s enough to shield her from the curse.

Later, that misjudgement will cost her everything. Later, she will die alone and afraid on a hill for something out of her control. Later, the history books will paint her as a tragic figure, torn between two men she fell in love with. Later, the people who once couldn’t stop gossiping about her will forget her, an unimportant figure in a much grander history. Later, she will be remembered as the weak-willed child of a weak-willed father, a princess who died with her kingdom.

The history books won’t mention how she didn’t even get to die beside the one she loved.

When she finds herself in the halls of Mandos, she keeps to herself.

Gwindor’s beloved is here. She’s felt him die before her, so he is here too. Now they have a chance at reuniting. No need to ruin their happiness when they still haven’t found out how they truly feel for each other. Nobody on Arda needs a second Finwe-and-Miriel-and-Indis type of situation. Maybe in a couple of centuries, she’ll go and search for them. Right now, they are better off without her.

Finduilas doesn’t get a couple of centuries. She doesn’t even get a month, if her hazy sense of time in those halls can be trusted.

“Here you are! We had search everywhere for you! You aren’t still mad because I ruined your favorite brush, right?”

Finduilas looks up, disbelieving, straight into Gwindor’s grinning face. “Gwindor, you apologized at least a hundred times, got Tyelpë to make me a custom fit new one and that was more than twenty years ago! You can’t possibly believe I’m still mad at you…”

She trails off when his grin only gets wider. “I knew that would get you to talk,” he proclaims, satisfied. “Now get over here and meet my partner. I’m sure you two will get along great.”

Of course he’s right. Tinwë is a delight and she can see why Gwindor fell in love with him so many years ago. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued but surprisingly gentle and an excellent opponent in a discussion mark him as someone they had dire need of in Nargothrond. They’d have so much fun at court.

And maybe, she slowly likes him too. She doesn’t fall in love, just like it was with Gwindor, but there is something between the two of them that just feels right.

Tinwë is it too who finally gets her agonizing feelings for Gwindor sorted out. “You love him,” he says to her once, out of the blue, when they walk together through the endless passageways of Mandos’ halls. “And he loves you. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

“And what do you think about that?” Finduilas’ voice sounds strong but her hands shake.

He surprises her by turning around. “I love you too,” he says simply. “Not like I love Gwindor, but I love you. You make him happy. He makes me happy. You make me happy too.”

Finduilas has to blink a tear out of her eye when he lays a hand on her shoulder.

“He told me about the things people used to say about you. I don’t think you are marred, Finduilas. I think you are just the way you’re supposed to be. How could you be wrong? If you were different, you wouldn’t be yourself anymore.” He laughs and adds: “Certainly far more boring, that’s for sure!”

And then Gwindor comes and embraces all of them and Finduilas thinks, maybe she was right all along. Why would she need anyone when she’s the happiest she’s ever been right here, right in this moment?

And one day, all three of them walk together out of the halls of Mandos. Finduilas takes a deep breath of clean air, grips Gwindor’s and Tinwë’s hands a bit stronger and for the first time in her whole life, she feels whole.

#finduilas #gwindor #The Silmarillion #the silm #oh sorry maedhros shows up as well #turin and his awful luck are here too #and feanor is mentioned #aspec tolkien #i swear i tried to keep this short #it was also supposed to be something very different from what it ended up being #i'm so sorry #but i hope at least somebody will have fun reading it #have an overly long piece that somehow morphed into a character study for finduilas #that was originally only supposed to be short snippet of aromantic!finduilas #well now i have to make even more headcanons about this 'verse i guess

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jarienn972 · 4 years

Text

La Sirena - Chapter Nine

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

We're nearly to the completion of this little @cssns tale but we’re not quite there yet. This chapter started to get really long so I decided to break it up and create a bonus epilogue chapter that will wrap everything up! Writing my first complete AU has been quite the challenge, as well as quite a learning experience. Thank you, @kmomof4 for all of your encouragement and beta assistance along the way! And thank you, @courtorderedcake for the beautiful artwork that has graced every chapter.

So here we are at huge turning point. Poseidon sided with Emma and intervened to stop Regina's evil "test" but is there a future for our heroes or did rescue come too late for Killian this time? Catch up from the beginning at AO3 or FF.net or on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

*********

The immediate threats may have gone away, but Emma knew the ordeal was still far from over. Regina's menacing presence no longer lingered over the bay as a pleasant breeze ushered away the remaining dark clouds and the dulcet melodies of the songbirds returned to the trees, yet she couldn't relax. She scarcely noticed the school of colorful fish darting to and fro around her as she swam for the shore. Her attention was singularly focused.

Gentle waves lapped at Killian's motionless form as he lay prone in the damp sand. Morphing back to human legs, Emma clambered awkwardly out of the shallows, crawling her way up to the shore to reach the injured human. Her eyes were welling up with tears as she feared her efforts may have been for naught.

Please, let him be alive, was the only thought on her mind as she reached for his arm, tenderly caressing bare skin exposed beneath the torn black silk. Angry red welts covered his upper arm where the kraken's suckers had latched onto their victim, and while Emma was apprehensive about moving him, she also feared that if he were still breathing, he'd suffocate if she didn't turn him over.

She placed her right hand behind his head and gently cradled it against her palm as she used her left hand to lift his torso slightly and roll his limp body toward her, allowing his back to rest upon her knees. His eyes were closed and barely fluttered when she brushed away the sand that marred his face, noting quickly that the sand was covering up the bloody evidence of his reopened head wound.

"Stay with me," she pleaded. "Stay with me, Killian…"

A weak moan and a dribble of sea water escaped his throat, reviving her hopes as she lowered her head over Killian's and pressed her lips against his bloodstained cheek. Her golden tresses draped across his face as if to shield him from the world as she momentarily forgot that they were being watched by the god of the seas.

"Can you save him?" she implored the deity who'd remained offshore. "Please don't allow all of this to be in vain! Please don't allow Regina's hatred to win!"

"Emma, my realm is the sea, you know this," Poseidon reluctantly reminded her. "Nothing I do can save the life of a human if it is their time. Only my brothers, Hades, ruler of the underworld, and Zeus, supreme ruler of Olympus, could intervene, but I am fairly certain that neither is likely to be interested in the fate of a single human."

A despondent Emma wasn't about to take his deference as an answer.

"But it is not fair! If not for Regina's interference, Killian would have been fine. He would have survived and…"

"And?" Poseidon interrupted her. "He would have survived to be trapped here on this cove with you. How long before he longed for his own world again? Would he have felt imprisoned here with only an immortal siren for companionship? I'm not trying to be unkind, but truthfully, what is best for this young man?"

"Certainly not death," Emma rebutted angrily, her emerald eyes staring intently at Killian's unconscious visage as she challenged the deity. She didn't understand why this one human's fate was so important to her, why he held such a tight hold on her after so short a time… "Why would he be allowed to escape the sirens only to die from Regina's awful conduct?"

The god sighed and shook his head as he lowered his trident to his flank. "Ah, Emma… You remind me so much of my Ursula…" He tread a little further into the shallows before pushing himself up atop a large boulder, curling his glistening platinum tail around the rock and scratching at his beard as he formed his next words inside his head. "Like you, she possessed a compassion towards the human race that I failed to understand for many centuries. It wasn't until that fateful day that the first human sailed beyond the isle of the sirens that I ever had reason to converse with one. I confronted that man, trying to determine what ruse he'd employed to get past my protections and what I discovered was a young man who was simply trying to return home to his ailing mother.

"That man had fought through attacking enemy ships and fierce sea creatures until he was the sole survivor on his vessel. He'd tried in vain to return to his homeland, but he wasn't yet a skilled sailor and had navigated himself in circles before crossing into our realm. He knew who I was the moment I appeared before him, and I could sense his fear and reverence. He was a humble man with a good heart, and it was that humble, pure intentioned heart that my daughter sensed and eventually fell in love with. She urged me to aid the man's return to his land but after being gone so long, there was little left for him to return to. He banded with a few survivors and formed a new village on an island near our realm, eventually marrying my daughter.

"The reason I'm telling you all of this, Emma, is that you clearly felt that same compassion because, like Ursula, you sensed this man's good heart. I never believed it would be possible for a siren to sense such emotion, but from the day you separated yourself from the council, I have known that you were different. A creature birthed to enchant and entice humans to their death wasn't intended to possess compassion - let alone the emotion you're feeling right now."

"And what might that be?" she asked with a sniffle while shifting her position ever so slightly so that she could see Poseidon's face.

"You've fallen in love, Emma, and that is a most powerful emotion."

"Love?"

"It's what is driving you to want to protect him. It may perhaps be part of the instinct that compelled you to rescue him in the first place. But I say that with the warning that I can not promise whether the emotion is reciprocated. Only he can answer that question."

"Is that the reason for these tears? Are sirens even able to cry?"

"You may be the first."

"Is love the reason I feel like a piece of myself may die with him?" she questioned as her fingers unconsciously laced through the matted, scraggly dark hair at the nape of Killian's neck. "If Regina's treachery has taken him from me, I swear, I will find her and…"

Poseidon cut her off before her anger overshadowed her present dilemma. "I promise you, Regina will be dealt with, swiftly and surely. Once I determine my brother's role in this debacle, Regina will likely be stripped of her powers and if I see fit, banished to the Forbidden Isles."

"Banishment to the Forbidden Isles seems harsh, even for what Regina did…" Emma sighed, hugging Killian even closer to her breast until she recalled the damage the kraken had presumably inflicted upon the man she loved and loosened her embrace. "If I am to be truthful, all I really want is whatever is in Killian's best interest."

"If only all sirens were blessed with your wisdom," Poseidon smiled. "Perhaps it is time to grant all of your kind the full range of emotions?"

"Or perhaps it is simply time for us to mend our ways? All humans are not evil, and some of them out there are still your descendants - maybe even Killian here."

"It has been so many generations since I've kept track of my descendants," the deity lamented. "I'm afraid that there is so little trace of my lineage left that it would be nearly impossible to determine. Being a descendant of an Olympian god doesn't necessarily grant that good heart that makes a man immune to the siren song either. Many of my grandchildren's grandchildren succumbed to greed, avarice and other sins of humanity, but as you've said, there are many good ones out there. Perhaps you are right that it is time for the gods to amend our perception of humanity, but I fear the likelihood of that happening is negligible."

"I was afraid of that," Emma responded as her gaze cast downward.

"However," Poseidon continued, "while I cannot directly heal this human, I do have an idea that could expedite his return to his own ship, where he belongs."

"May I go with him?" Emma asked impulsively, her query catching the god off-guard as she raised expectant eyes to meet the god's gaze.

"Emma, are you certain?" the flabbergasted Poseidon inquired.

"I am quite certain. If there is a way to return Killian to his ship and to his family, I wish to go with him."

"To do so, you would have to give up your immortality and all of your magic," he explained.

"Lord Poseidon, I have spent centuries alone. I never desired any companionship until I spoke to Killian. If there is a way to save him and for me to accompany him, I will gladly surrender my immortality."

"I can arrange that, but I do remind you that I cannot guarantee that your emotions will be returned by him. There is no way to make someone love you…"

"It is a chance I will happily take, Your Majesty. My instincts are telling me that he shares my feelings and I can no longer imagine spending an eternity here without him. If he is to return to the land where he belongs, then I know I belong there at his side."

Poseidon nodded as he raised the trident, pointing it skyward. "Then so it shall be," he stated as clouds gathered once again above the bay, swirling into a mighty vortex before the god vanished in a blinding flash of lightning.

*********

A warm, tropical breeze tickled his cheek as Killian shifted his aching body. He could feel the sun on his back as he felt around, grasping and then releasing a fistful of sand. His memory was sketchy as he struggled to lift his head and force his eyes open, not yet certain if he was alive or dead. Maybe somewhere in between?

His head was throbbing too much to hold up so he slid his forearm beneath it and just let it rest there. The simple act of drawing breath was agonizing. Did the dead still experience pain in the afterlife or was this his purgatory? Left broken and abandoned on a deserted beach with the sea just beyond his reach?

Bits and pieces of memories (or maybe, hallucinations) came and went when his eyes would fall closed. Pirates and sinking ships. Palm trees and some subterranean lagoon. A mermaid with long, golden hair and a tail that shimmered like pearls in the sunlight. A huge sea beast with tentacles that were as long as the Jewel from bow to stern. He even pictured a gigantic trident reaching out of the waves.

How hard had he struck his head? he wondered as the fingers on his left hand gingerly touched the open laceration at his scalp, noting the crimson stains on his skin as his hand fell away. Sucking in a deep breath that he immediately regretted, he almost wanted to laugh at his unbelievable situation. What a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Killian Jones, he thought.

His gaze drifted back to the bay, staring out at the horizon as his vision began to blur and he found himself fighting to remain conscious. He squinted in an attempt to make out a faint blob off in the distance and assumed he was imagining the peal of a ship's bell and approaching voices when he succumbed to the pain-free peace of the darkness.

*********

The familiar bob and sway of the sea was a welcome sensation as Killian began to come around. Breathing was still a chore but even before his eyelids began to part, he knew something was different. The recognizable scents of musty books and linens filled his nostrils along with some sort of strong alcohol - although definitely not the drinking kind. The creaks and squeaks of wood battered by wind and waves was a familiar reverberation in his ear.

He threw his eyelids open and lurched upright, only to be halted and eased back onto the bunk by a large, calloused hand adorned with a single, hefty, carved silver ring.

A ring that even in his discombobulated state, he noticed and identified instantly.

"Liam?" he choked out, his throat dry and burning as though he'd swallowed much of the sand back on that beach.

"Aye, little brother," Liam smiled broadly as Killian's eyes finally focused on his elder brother's bearded and clearly anguished face. Liam's typically perfectly pressed uniform was rumpled, wrinkled and as deeply creased as his face, but Killian didn't yet know that it was the product of days searching for, and then worrying over his younger brother. "Now, will you please lie back down? Doc says you still need a lot of rest to recuperate."

"Liam, I can't believe it is really you. It has been an eternity, it seems… I thought I'd never see you again…," Killian excitedly babbled as clarity slowly returned. The comforting sight of his own first officer's cabin, paltry as it might be, helped him relax as he settled back into the pile of feather-stuffed pillows propped against the stateroom wall. Scratchy as it was, Killian didn't even protest as Liam draped the Royal Navy-issued charcoal grey, woolen blanket over top of his heavily bruised chest. "It is really you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is really me, brother," Liam replied as he fretted with the bedding, trying to make the narrow bunk as comfortable as possible for his only sibling who had seemingly just returned from the dead. "I was warned you might be a little out of sorts for a couple of days from your injuries, but yes, I am really here and yes, I am beyond happy that we located you alive. It took us days to locate you on that tiny island. You were bloody lucky that the other survivor was one of the prisoners and not one of those pirates."

"Prisoner?" Killian repeated with his face scrunched in confusion and obvious discomfort.

"You really need your rest, Killian, and I need to go make my rounds. We can talk more later…"

"Brother, I don't understand… There was no survivor from that ship, save for myself." Killian became increasingly agitated and shook his head at the wrongness of it all. That motion, of course, only made his achy skull hurt more and loosened some of the bandages Doc had wrapped around his cranium to cover the jagged wound and the uneven stitches he'd used to hold it closed. "I was the only one who survived… I failed all of our men…" Killian squeezed his eyes closed as his wavering voice cracked with melancholy. "I'm so sorry, Liam, but I'm hardly fit to be your First Mate…"

"Brother, please just rest. You're spouting such nonsense. I'll send Doc right in to examine you. Your head injury must have been far worse than he thought to have affected your memory so severely."

"My memory is fine," Killian stated bluntly. "Far better than my performance as an officer…"

"For allowing yourself to be captured so your wounded crew could escape? That's hardly a failure, brother. I recommended you for a commendation for your bravery and I truly feared I would never have the opportunity to pin that medal on your uniform myself."

Liam's words made no sense. No one awards a commendation to a man who failed his mission and lost his entire landing team. He knew he must be dead and this purgatory was a cruel end to his fantastical journey.

"I'm sorry, I've been such a failure, Liam. You do not need to cover for my sins. I am only alive today through the mercy of the gods who sent down an angel to rescue me…"

"Bloody hell, Killian…," an exasperated Liam sighed. "Whatever are you rambling on about? I sincerely hope that either Doc or the lass can talk some sense into you…" Liam snatched up his plumed uniform hat from the writing table as he rose from his chair at his brother's bedside, doing his best to straighten his overcoat to look proper and authoritative, as a Captain should be.

"Lass?" Killian asked in bewilderment. What lass? He could only picture one lovely lass with flowing, blonde hair and emerald green eyes, but she could hardly have followed him here…

"The other former prisoner of those cowardly pirates that we rescued from the island with you, you git," Liam muttered, flopping his hat back atop his head as he shoved aside the heavy canvas curtain that provided Killian's quarters a semblance of privacy from the rest of the crew berths lining the narrow corridor that dissected this deck. It was far more crowded and noisy than his own quarters which were a deck above, spanning the width of the stern, not that he had occupied them for the past few days.

Liam's footsteps resounded heavily on the oak planks beneath his feet as he lumbered down the passageway and rapped on the wall outside of another curtained compartment. The ship's doctor, who's face looked nearly as haggard as the Captain's, drew the curtain open and immediately straightened his posture at the sight of his superior officer.

"At ease," Liam grumbled, letting the doctor know with a casual wave of his hand that military decorum wasn't necessary.

"Sorry, Cap'n. Taking a break from your vigil over the young Lieutenant Jones?"

"More like taking a break from Killian in general."

"Has he awakened?"

"A short time ago - yes. He isn't making a bloody lick of sense, babbling on about being a horrible officer who failed his crew and was saved by some mythical angel. How severe was the injury to his head?"

"How wonderful to hear that he's come around, but his head injury appeared largely superficial. I'll happily give him another once over now that he's awake. Maybe those pirates poisoned him or something that is affecting his mental state?"

"I hope it is something easily remedied or I fear his career may be in danger. I'm going to go fetch the lass we rescued along with him. Perhaps hearing her tale will help sort his head out…"

"Sounds like a very good idea, sir," the doctor responded as his troubled captain departed without another word, trudging tiredly towards the ladder to the upper deck.

*********

The visit by the ship's doctor only left Killian more irritable and baffled by their blatant dismissal of his miscarriage of his duties. They must all be daft, Killian thought. Or they think I am? Maybe he was merely imagining all of this?

Had any of this been real?

As the doctor had replaced bandages and prodded him in every tormenting and unpleasant place imaginable, Killian saw the very real evidence of his injuries. He was peppered with cuts, scrapes and contusions in various stages of healing. Some of the more painful ones were deep purplish while others had begun yellowing. There were red welts on his arms and across his torso that Doc couldn't identify, suggesting they might be burns or some manner of rash, but Killian's mind recalled a vastly different source. He'd been quickly shushed at the mere mention of encountering a kraken.

Doc offered him medicine to ease his discomfort which Killian knew meant the potion they'd sourced in the Far Eastern realm. He didn't know much about the substance, but he declined, preferring to keep what remained of his wits about him. The exasperated doctor muttered something unintelligible under his breath and shook his head at the young lieutenant's stubbornness, but Killian did overhear him mention that Liam had gone to fetch the supposed other prisoner from the pirate ship before departing Killian's quarters.

Killian knew with absolute certainty that no one else had escaped that ship with him, whatever had led to its sinking. Whomever this mysterious woman was that Liam had mentioned, she must be the key to unraveling this insanity. He was anxious to meet her, although he was also embarrassed to have a lady see him in such a disheveled state.

He also couldn't get the image of an ethereal presence to depart his head - one with flowing, pale blonde hair, porcelain skin that nearly glowed in her state of undress, and a supple, shimmery tail fin that playfully flicked water towards him.

No, he scolded himself. She didn't exist. Just a dreamy figment of his overactive imagination…

The sound of hushed voices in the corridor beyond the curtain snapped his attention back and Killian strained to hear what they were saying.

"Seems to be healing well, but his head's a bit out of sort…" Killian heard Doc telling someone that he soon realized was Liam when he heard his brother respond.

"It's unorthodox…," he heard Liam say, but he could only make out portions of the rest. "Doesn't remember… Miss Swan, we're hoping… We realize this is a highly unusual request, but given your time together…"

Miss Swan? Killian knew no one by such name, but why would Liam bring a stranger to visit him in his convalescence? Perhaps he should just pretend to be asleep and they'll go away, not that the ruse had ever worked to fool Liam. He closed his eyelids anyway as he heard the rattle and squeak of the curtain being drawn, determined to ignore his unwanted guests anyway.

"Should I return when he isn't asleep?" a feminine voice asked shyly.

"I swear, he was awake a moment ago, Capt'n," Doc said with an echo of concern in his voice, although Killian wasn't certain if it was directed toward him or if Doc feared the Captain's ire.

"I apologize, Miss Swan," Liam muttered with an audible sigh. "I thought it would do him good to see you - that it would aid his recollection, but he's a stubborn arse…"

"No apology necessary, Captain," the woman replied. Her voice was tantalizingly familiar to Killian, but he couldn't place why. He almost wanted to secret an eye open to catch a glimpse but he didn't dare. "Would it be alright if I sat with him for a spell?"

Oh, bloody hell, no! Killian screamed internally. Liam would never permit such a thing. Having a woman onboard was scandalous enough…

"I'm hesitant to allow that since this deck is less secure than my quarters, milady," Liam answered, only Killian could hear the but coming. "But since this is an unusual situation, I'll allow it. I'm sure I can find enough chores to keep my crew occupied for a bit and keep them away from this deck."

"Thank you, Captain," she responded and Killian could hear her smile in her voice. He was disappointed in his brother and was nearly betrayed by the frown he fought from forming on his own lips.

"I shall check back in a short time, lest my brother or any other sailor here attempt to take advantage of you."

"I am sure your brother will be a perfect gentleman, as he was while we were awaiting rescue. He could scarcely glance at me without blushing…"

Wait… What did she just say? Killian's brain was swirling with new questions as Liam bid the mystery woman farewell for the moment. He wanted so much to look upon her face, but he must wait until he heard Liam's heavy footsteps trailing away.

Could this really be…?

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cssns20 #cs ff #cs au ff #siren emma #sorry to break it there #but there was a reason for that

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omnivorousshipper · 3 years

Note

Hello Omni! Can we have Betta!Deckard, his family, and Mahi-Mahi!Luke with newborn baby Samantha please?

Awww! Absolutely friend! It is Mer May after all!!

~~~

Deckard was exhausted as he leaned against the plush seaweed Luke had collected for his birthing bed. The cave he was in was large, with a few holes in the ceiling to allow sunlight to shine through and glint off the many treasures Owen and Hattie had collected for his new child

A quiet trill left Deckard was he held his daughter closer to his chest

Samantha looked gorgeous and perfect. Her delicate tail was just like his, the thin fins were moving gently with the water. But her coloring was exactly like Luke's, bright yellow mixed with a bit of neon green

It was no secret that she would be a beautiful mer when she grew up

But for now, Deckard couldn't get over just how small she was and how she fit into his arms perfectly

"How are you doing?"

Looking up, Deckard's smile didn't faulted a bit as he watched Luke swim into the cave. He was carrying two large tunas, having gone hunting after Deckard had given birth

"Tired." He admitted

"Try to eat something before you sleep." Luke said gently, working on cutting up the tuna with his claws. "I've been trying to keep your family away to give you peace, but I don't think they'll stay away for much longer."

"It's fine." Deckard chuckled. "I don't want to deprive them of Sammy."

Deckard was able to eat half of one of the tunas before he heard the tell tale trills of his little brother and sister

Two heads poked into the cave, eyes filled with awe and curiosity

"Stop lurking and come meet your niece!" Deckard rolled his eyes

In a blink of an eye, they were darting forward to shove their faces close to Sam

"She's so tiny!" Owen whispered

"And squishy." Hattie wrinkled her nose

"You two were the exact same." Deckard scolded. "Do either of you want to hold her?"

Owen immediately thrust his arms out, an excited trill filling the cave. Hattie moved away, an uncertain look on her face. Deckard had to show Owen how to handle cradling her, but the shark mer didn't seem to mind as he kept smiling down at her

"If you look this happy with your niece, then I expect you to give me grandchildren, Oh."

All three siblings snapped their heads up as their mother swam into the cave, a smirk obvious on her lips

"Not in a million tides." Owen mumbled, handing Sam back

"We'll see." Their mother chucked. "Now let me see my first grandchild."

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!

#shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #mpreg #mermaid au #owen shaw #hattie shaw #magdelene shaw #asks #omni answers #omni writes

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iliveiloveiwrite · 5 years

Text

In my life, I’ll love you more

A/N: Okay, so I watched both Fantastic Beasts films the other day and now I love Newt so I thought I would write something. It is my first fic for him, I hope you enjoy it! Also, if you would like to be added to a taglist for Fantastic Beasts or Harry Potter - let me know, I’ll happily create one!

Title: The Beatles - In My Life

Summary: You’ve been in love with Newt for a decade - he’s always known.

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

You closed the door to the one-bedroomed flat. Quickly noting the absence of the messy-haired magizoologist that you had grown to admire and love over the course of a decade long friendship. A friendship you treasured with your very being – you would not let your affections for Newt get in the way of it. It was inevitable that you were going to fall in love with him; your very first meeting with the wizard, your subconscious had warned you that he could break your heart, but you didn’t listen. Once Newt had returned from New York, speaking incessantly about Tina – well, you almost wished you had listened to the warning whispered to you so long ago.

Sighing, you head over to the kitchen counter, placing a shopping bag on its top and beginning to unpack its contents. Essentials for Newt, ingredients for his creatures started to litter the countertops before you could start organising what needed to be put away and what was needed for the creatures in the other room. A note for you had been left near the breadbin:

“(Y/N), I’ll be in the next room when you arrive. Come and see me when you get settled. Newt.”

Checking the time, you saw that it was approaching 10 in the morning and by the looks of the kitchen as you entered, Newt had skipped breakfast and gone into the enclosures, or he had taken food with him. From previous experience, and knowing him, it would most definitely be the former. His dedication to his creatures, his love for them, were unparalleled. You had never known a man to dedicate so much of his time to his work, his passion. His love for his work simply took your breath away. You understood how he felt though; your love for Charms and their history took over your life as you studied at Hogwarts. Charms and History of Magic were your highest grades upon leaving. It was how you had met Newt – there wasn’t a strict discipline for your talents, so you had taken a job at the Ministry and from there, ran into Newt.

Both of you had spent countless nights in his briefcase talking about anything and everything; Newt telling tales of his travels to far off lands that you one day hoped to visit too. You would tell him stories of the past – history of Charms, history of the Wizarding World, and of the Muggle World. Nights like those, you cherished. Newt was more comfortable among animals than he was humans, but he opened up to you and a close, dear friendship developed.

You decided that a second breakfast/early lunch would do no harm to either you or Newt, so you started to make the mixture for pancakes. A simple recipe, one you had learned from a Muggle recipe book by the name of Mrs Beaton. They would take no time to cook so you quickly set out two plates and small tin of golden syrup – the best way to eat pancakes.

Plating up the food, you grab both plates and head towards the other room. This space was dedicated to Newt’s animals – an expansion of his briefcase. It was full of enclosures for his creatures – your personal favourite was the Niffler despite the trouble he got himself into.

Walking down the stairs, you call out, “Newt, whereabouts are you? I’ve brought food.”

“I’m by the Bowtruckles.”

“On my way!”

You find Newt exactly where he said he was. He was attempting to get Pickett to join the tree again, however, he was not having much success. He stops trying as you reach him.

“Good morning, (Y/N).”

“Good morning, Newt. I assumed that you hadn’t eaten so I’ve made pancakes for us.”

“You assumed correctly. What would I do without you keeping an eye on me?”

“Forget to eat, most likely.”

“I’m very lucky to have you in my life, I hope you know that.”

You feel your cheeks redden, “If I didn’t know before, I do now. Thank you, Newt.”

It is silent as you both eat the pancakes. His words run through your mind as you clean your plate. Newt devours his food, clearly not having eaten since the night before. He gets so engrossed in his work that you do start to worry sometimes, but he is quick to reassure you that he takes breaks, he does eat, he does sleep. You feel like a babysitter some of time, but he quickly pushes that worry away every time you voice it.

Sitting there, next to him, it starts to become too much. Almost 10 years you’ve felt like this – you knew logically that he either didn’t feel the same way or he did and didn’t want to say anything. You hoped and hoped it would be the latter, but it had been pointed out by your work friends that it was more the former. They didn’t mean it harshly, they had your best intentions at heart, they had watched you fawn over Newt for almost a decade when plenty of men had voiced interest in you. Your parents also didn’t help the matter, nearing thirty, they had started to panic thinking they were not going to get grandchildren.

Sighing for not the first time that morning, you decided to simply confess your feelings for the man next to you. Taking a deep breath, you state, “Newt, I love you.”

“I know.”

“You know? How could you know?”

“I’ve known for a while.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know how to approach the subject. I only put two and two together once I returned from New York.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. As it happens, I’m in love with you too.”

You almost drop the plate in your hands. “You do.”

“I do. I think I’ve loved you for a long while, but I only realised after I returned to New York and you greeted me with such affection that it confirmed what I felt for you.”

You blush slightly, laughing as you remember that moment. He had barely been home an hour before you had barrelled into his home, berating him but pulling him into a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you, Newt. I got one letter from you saying you had arrived safe and sound, and then nothing. I was so worried. You’re lucky I didn’t show up to New York myself, Mr Scamander.”

He chuckles, standing up, moving his plate to nearby table, “It was that moment though. I had missed you for the entire trip, of course I did. But when you came into the flat, it cemented just how much I missed you. And also how much I loved you.”

You follow his actions, standing too. You take his hand in yours, “Newt, what does this mean for us?”

“I’m not entirely sure. What would you like it to mean for us?”

“Well if we both feel the same, why don’t we take it one step further?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about dinner? Tonight? What about the Italian restaurant a few streets over at 7?”

Newt nods, he looks slightly lost on this topic, but you both can figure it all out together. “Dinner tonight sounds lovely.”

You beam up at him “Great. I can’t wait. I’m going to go out now and by a new dress for it.”

He smiles back at you, “I can’t either. Can I try something before you go?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

On those words, Newt presses his lips to yours. A chaste, sweet kiss – testing the waters. In your opinion, it is over too soon, and when he pulls away, you find yourself chasing his lips for another kiss. He kisses you again, twice, thrice, and pulls away completely.

“Tonight,” he whispers.

“Tonight.” You promise.

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander #fantastic beasts fanfiction #cute #oneshot #newt x reader #My writing #my masterlist #newt scamander fanfic #newt scamander fanfiction

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archivistsammy · 4 years

Text

This feels obvious in hindsight, but as we begin our rewatch, I am struck by the thematic resonance of the cases over the first three episodes. Makes sense. There are a lot of character and story dynamics to lay groundwork for. I guess I was too focused on the monster-of-the-week framework to really notice.

To start, the pilot deliberately positions the Woman in White and Mary Winchester as opposite sides of the same mother coin, even going so far as styling them in similar clothing. You almost wonder if Dean might have first mistaken the Woman in White for his mother. Especially when he and Sam were talking about her just before the Woman in White appears in the distance on the bridge.

But the Woman in White serves as more than just an example of a “bad” mother compared to Mary’s example of a “good” one. She seems more of a cautionary tale for and about Mary.

Sam explains that the Woman in White is the ghost of a mother who murders her children out of temporary insanity brought on by her husband’s infidelity. Almost as if she kills her children in a deluded attempt to protect them from the trauma of a broken home.

We do not know if John was ever unfaithful to Mary—although S5′s “Dark Side of the Moon” reveals their marriage had its ups and downs—but he does theoretically break their home by raising their children as hunters after her death. What might Mary have done to save her sons from this fate? A fate a younger Mary describes in S4′s “In the Beginning” as “the very worst thing” she can think of? Sam asks Dean if he thinks “Mom would have wanted this for us” and the answer is clearly HELL NO.

If the pilot uses its case to telegraph mama bear Mary, then 1.2 uses its case to signal the the ride-or-die bond between Sam and Dean. And how that bond developed in their parents’ absence. Amid their search to find John, our boys meet Haley and Ben: a couple of tight-knit siblings making it on their own. “Our parents are gone,” Haley explains. “It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

Sounds pretty familiar to me. Apparently to Dean too. More than once, he expresses sympathy for Haley’s eldest sibling determination to find and rescue her younger brother Tommy. And after Dean and Haley get taken by the monster, Sam and Ben step up to demonstrate their own selfless commitment to their respective siblings.

“Dead in the Water” completes the family portrait by telling us more about John. Or, more specifically, how his sins put the lives of those he loves at risk.

Sheriff Jake Devins and Bill Carlton drowned their childhood friend Peter Sweeney, and now Peter’s spirit similarly targets their children and grandchildren. With young Lucas in jeopardy, Sheriff Devins offers himself in exchange for his grandson, satisfying the ghost’s revenge.

Does John not broker the same trade to save Dean in S2′s “In My Time of Dying”? And does he also not make that trade out of not only fatherly love but also as a means of atonement? Atonement for how his relentless demon crusade endangered his children? “You care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son!” Sam accuses John in “Dying.” “It’s the same selfish obsession!” Dean should not suffer the consequences of John’s sins anymore than Lucas the Sheriff’s. And like the Sheriff, John ultimately agrees.

John is of course not the only Winchester whose emotional journey is reflected in the circumstances of the case. Dean’s is arguably even more apparent, with him explicitly relating to Lucas over their shared traumatic experience of witnessing a parent die.

But the resolution of Sam’s fraught paternal relationship is hinted at too. In speaking one-on-one with Sam, the Sheriff’s daughter Andrea concludes, “Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that.” Sam shares a similar sentiment with Dean just a few episodes later in “Bugs.” “I want to apologize to him,” he tells Dean. “All the things I said to him. He was just doing the best he could.”

#supernatural #mary winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #pilot #1.1 #1.2 #dead in the water #1.3 #s1 #our meta

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stormyblue90 · 4 years

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Blessed by the Gods pt. 2

Alexios meets his niece and nephew! Continuation of this oneshot!

Also tagging @alexi-ohs for some soft, post-Deimos Alexios.

Familiar red and white buildings came into view as the sun began to set behind the Taygetos mountain range. Alexios had finally returned to the lands of Sparta after being gone for three months. It was still strange to him, returning and having a growing sense of familiarity. The only reason it started to feel like he could possibly make a home here was his sister and mother. Had it not been for them, he'd still be the Cult's weapon, the monster Deimos.

It had only been two years since that day on Taygetos, Alexios was still gradually finding himself within the shell of Deimos. He still struggled with the occasionally violent outburst when provoked, or nightmares. They had thankfully, lessened as of late, his last nightmare had been just before he left on the Adrestia. He had come to take after his older sister becoming a mercenary. It was the only lifestyle it seemed he could be suited for now. Before, he had travelled together with Kassandra, however this was the first time he had been on his own due to her being a delicate condition. He was thankful for never having an episode while away. He had no intention of hurting his sister's friends onboard the ship.

"So how does it feel to return home?" Barnabas asked, his boisterous voice catching Alexios' attention.

"I'm...not sure." Alexios answered. "It's not something I'm used to."

"Perhaps with time you will." replied the soft voice of Herodotos, also accompanying Alexios' return to Sparta.

Alexios nodded silently, hoping that the old man would be right.

Both of Kassandra's friends had been willing to give her brother a chance, whether at her suggestion or not Alexios wasn't sure, nor did he care. He was thankful someone else outside his immediate family was willing. Slowly he had begun to befriend them as well. It wasn't hard to see why Kassandra enjoyed their company. Barnabas was bombastic, friendly, and his spirits never dampened. A welcome change from the fear, disgust, and coldness he had grown up with in the Cult. Herodotos was quieter, but patient. Alexios knew the man was insatiably curious, but he never asked uncomfortable questions. He would let Alexios open up on his own terms, at his own pace.

"How long has it been? Three months since you left these lands?" Herodotos asked.

"I think so." Alexios answered.

"Ha! By now you should be an uncle!" Barnabas cried.

He was right, when Alexios first left, Kassandra looked as if she was about to burst from her pregnancy. No doubt his niece or nephew had been born while he was away.

"You're right Barnabas. Hm, I wonder if I have a nephew or niece?"

"No matter, I'm sure they will the strongest warrior in all of Hellas!"

Alexios put on a mock face of offense before saying. "Only after ME of course!", causing the older men to chuckle.

Finally the three of them made it to the shared house of Kassandra and Brasidas, his sister carrying a large basket of fruit and vegetables inside.

"Good to see you're not fat anymore!" Alexios called out in a joking manner.

"I was not FAT! I was pregnant- Barnabas! Herodotos!" Kassandra turned and smiled seeing her old friends. "I didn't expect you two to come with Alexios."

"And miss out meeting the new member of the family? HA! Of course not!" Barnabas cried.

"I do hope motherhood has been kind to you Kassandra." Herodotos said.

"Well, it has been...surprising, and my biggest challenge yet. Please, come inside. I do hope you will be staying for dinner."

"Of course Kassandra, of course."

All three men followed her inside, finding Brasidas with the newborn twins, telling them various stories.

"By the Gods! You've had twins!" Barnabas exclaimed.

"How remarkable, congratulations to you both." Herodotos said, seeing the two swaddled bundles with Brasidas.

"Yes, twins. A boy and a girl." Kassandra replied.

"Like Apollo and Artemis!" Barnabas said. "You have truly been blessed!"

"Barnabas, Herodotos! It is good to see you here." Brasidas welcomed.

Kassandra sat the basket on the table in the kitchen before walking towards her husband, taking one of the twins, her daughter Zenais.

"Was Pater telling you exciting stories again little ones?" she asked, cradling her daughter who softly cooed in reply.

"Oh yes, I was telling them the story of how we met and fought in the Monger's burning warehouse." Brasidas said.

"Oooh how exciting!" Kassandra replied as her daughter giggled more.

Both parents brought their children to the older men, offering to let them hold their children.

"This is Zenais, in the red blanket." Kassandra said as she offered Barnabas the wrapped bundle.

"Awww look how small and cute she is!" He said, gently tickling the baby's nose, causing her to giggle and grasp at his finger.

Brasidas allowed Herodotos to hold the second child wrapped in white, "And this one is our little Leonidas. Though we sometimes call him Leon for short."

"Named for his great grandfather I see. Quite the legacy young one."

"Well, he was born with birthmarks resembling the constellation of Leo. It seemed to be fate." Brasidas replied. "And Zenais with an eagle shaped mark."

"Ah fate is a funny thing indeed. Who knows what these little ones will destined for." Barnabas responded.

"They'll be destined for whatever they choose, and a life full of love." Kassandra said.

Alexios stood by, quiet, letting the old man coo and fawn over the babies as if they were their own grandchildren. With how close they were to Kassandra, they might as well be. He felt rather awkward however, while he had been expecting to be an uncle for quite some time, it was still shocking to see. To know it was real, and not some distant dream he'd wake from. Alexios didn't know how to behave around, or approach a baby, leading to his sense of awkwardness. Something so innocent and fragile. He didn't even feel worthy to be in the same room as a newborn, let alone his own niece and nephew.

While the old men were happy to hold the newborns, Alexios made no effort to suggest he might want to. In truth, he was afraid to hold either of them. Afraid he'd hurt them, break them. Even though he had recovered immensely, he still felt unworthy to hold something so pure.

"Alexios?" Kassandra said, walking towards him. "Is something wrong?"

"I-I uh...never seen a baby before." he replied, quite sheepishly, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

Kassandra rolled her eyes, "Of all the things in the world that make you hesitate, it's a baby!" she chided. "It's ok, you won't hurt them by being in the same room. No need to be so anxious. This should be a good experience for you."

"I'm not so sure... But I hope you're right." he replied, cautiously walking over to them. He still dare not hold them.

Within a moment, his face changed from anxious hesitation, to curiosity.

"They're so small. And... pink." he said, looking down at his niece.

"Of course they are! They're BABIES Alexios." Kassandra replied. "Honestly they were much smaller and pinker three months ago when they were born."

Alexios glanced at her, a bit miffed at her tone. He just told her he'd had never seen a baby before, how was he supposed to know? He only knew they'd be small, but not quite how small, let alone pink and squishy looking.

A few hours had passed, dinner and wine was served and eaten, and numerous stories passed between everyone. The people and places Herodotos has seen, how Kassandra and Brasidas were adjusting to parenthood, the jobs Alexios had taken, and several of Barnabas' tall tales. A number of which he told with great enthusiasm to the twins who were both enraptured with his tales of monsters and gods; almost as if they already understood everything he said.

"They do love to be told stories." Brasidas had mentioned earlier. "Certainly helps calm them down when they get upset."

Meanwhile Alexios was still reluctant to make any sort of physical contact with either child. Although there was some sort of tugging in his heart to hold them. He wasn't sure why, but the longer he observed them, the more his curiosity grew, the more he wanted to hold them. However his fear and anxiety kept him from doing so, let alone asking.

As if she could read his mind, Kassandra spoke up.

"You know you CAN hold them, you don't have to just stare."

"No! No I uh...I can't- They're so...small and soft...fragile, I-I'd probably break them or-" he said, mild panic in voice.

Kassandra put her hand on his shoulder. "It's ok Alexios. You won't hurt them." she encouraged. "I know you won't. I trust you."

Those three little words, 'I trust you', meant so much to him in that moment. She trusted him, she trusted him with a NEWBORN. Kassandra never trusted easily, very few truly had her trust and confidence. If she said she trusted him, then she meant it and had every reason to.

He nodded, "Alright, if you say so."

"Alright then. Hmm, I think I've got an idea to help you feel less nervous. Wait here." Kassandra left the room and when she returned, in her arms were as many cushions, blankets, and pillows she could carry.

She placed them in a large pile on the floor, much the way she did so long ago as a child. Once she was satisfied she motioned for Alexios to come over.

"Sit here." she told him, and he did.

Kassandra walked over to the shared cradle the twins lie in, and picked up her son. She brought him over to Alexios.

"When I first held you as a baby, I was just as nervous as you. I thought I'd break you. So I did this." she gestured with a nod to the pile of pillows and blankets

"Oh.." Alexios hesitantly held out his arms, still nervous about holding his nephew.

"Don't worry Leon, your Uncle Alexios isn't as bad as Uncle Stentor." She said to her son and she gently placed him in Alexios' arms. Adjusting him where needed.

Alexios let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The small, fragile, pink child looked up at him with large eyes. The same color as his father's Alexios noted.

"Chaire...little one." he said awkwardly, his nephew cooing softly in response.

"See? He likes you." Kassandra told him. She looked towards her brother and saw something in his eyes she'd never seen.

Alexios looked softer, his eyes held a touch of wonder, relief, it was as if holding his nephew brought something out in him he'd not been able to bring out beforehand. She has been right, this would be good for him.

As Alexios settled into holding a baby, he surprised his sister by gently stroking his nephew's face with the back of his forefinger. "So...soft" he remarked.

Leon reflexively held onto his uncle's finger when it was in reach, causing a soft smile to emerge on Alexios' face. "You will be a strong one." he whispered.

Kassandra smiled, happy to see her brother growing more confident in his ability to be soft, gentle, to be human again.

"You know," she began, "this was YOUR blanket once."

"What?"

"The baby blanket he's wrapped in. It was yours. Obviously we weren't expecting twins, so I had to improvise. I'd been given your old baby blanket by a priest in Argos."

Alexios felt the fabric between his thumb and index finger. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it somehow felt familiar. Like he was recalling a dream he had a long time ago.

"I see. It does almost feel...familiar."

Leon yawned, clearly growing sleepy in his uncle's arms. "Looks like he's growing tired."

"Well him and his sister have had a big evening. Meeting new members of the family, must be exhausting for a baby. Alright my little warrior, time for bed."

Gently Alexios handed Leonidas to Kassandra as she brought him to his crib, Brasidas following with Zenais.

"I believe it best we took our leave Alexios." Herodotos mentioned. "It was wonderful to see you again Kassandra, and meet your children."

"It was great to see you too." Kassandra replied. "I'd say I'd join you again on the Adrestia soon but..."

"Ah do not worry my friend!" Barnabas said, "You have a family to look after! The Adrestia will always be welcome to you. Perhaps next time your little ones can join us!"

Kassandra laughed, "Maybe in a few years Barnabas."

"You two can head back to the ship." Alexios said. "I think I'll stick around for a while. Still haven't seen Mater after all."

Both men nodded, taking their leave as they hugged Kassandra goodbye. He wasn't sure how, or why, but somehow seeing his niece and nephew made Alexios feel like he could call this place home one day. He actually felt like there was something here he could protect. Alexios WOULD protect them he silently promised. He would make sure what happened to him would NOT happen to the twins. Alexios knew their parents felt the same, and he'd help make sure the pair were protected and loved as well.

#Assassins Creed Odyssey #Assassins Creed #Alexios #Kassandra #Brasidas #Kassidas #Herodotos #Barnabas #Herodotos and Barnabas being excited grandpas!

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