#opt out tag: grief

[orime-stories]

Closing the Distance

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

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The Warrior of Light checks in with Count Edmont before setting off to Azys Lla. Full story below the cut. (1028 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

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Dinner at Fortemps Manor had become a quiet, sombre affair.

Artoirel would greet them with a solemn dignity, ensuring that the food offered was to everyone’s satisfaction and then lapsing back into silence. Emmanellain picked quietly at his food as always, but with a new furrow to his brow that aged his youthful features.

Sorrow was written in more familiar languages across her fellow Scions’ faces, Tataru’s frequently on the cusp of tears and Alphinaud’s wan and chastened still from his first attempts to utter words of condolence into the heavy silence the day it had fallen. Y’shtola following the others’ lead into that silence, even if she had never known the one it was being held for.

And the Count had stopped taking his meals with them entirely.

But as the day of their final departure for Azys Lla drew ever closer, Aurelle found she could bear his absence no longer.

Cruel as it felt to ask anything of a grieving father, surely that grief could not be weathered in isolation. He needed family around him now, more than ever. And she needed…

She needed to know if she still had the right to yearn to be considered such. In this place that had come to be home.

Finding the words to relay through his staff had been hard. Enduring the wait for their return harder still. But her breaths came easier once it was confirmed that he would speak with her — permitted he first be allowed time to make himself presentable. As though feeling the need to be presentable in one’s grief was not an abhorrent demand to be placed on anyone.

But once that time had passed, he stood before her at last, firm and solid as always. As though the last time she had seen him, hunched and sobbing on the floor, had never happened at all. It was frightening how much Ishgardian men could hide from those around them. Frightening to consider how much the people around her might be suffering, and how she might never know. Might well add to their burdens in her ignorance of them.

Would it be easier for him if she could hold herself together with a similar poise? If she could pretend that her heart was not breaking and rebuilding itself with every aching beat? Could she even do that if she tried?

But as soon as her mouth opened, everything within her that might have stayed steady and firm crumbled apart into one shuddering breath and a desperate “I’m so, so sorry.”

To which the Count took a deep and steadier breath of his own. “For what, my dear girl?”

“That we couldn’t… That I couldn’t…”

The hand on his cane tightened, and then he slowly lowered himself down to sit, gesturing for her to do the same. “Haurchefant… made his own choice. A choice to protect the people and values he has always cared so openly for. And soon you will cross paths with Thordan once more, and you will avenge my son. My girl, you have nothing to apologise for.”

Tears spilled from her eyes then, as she took her offered seat. The pain within her somehow surging and subsiding all at once. “You’ve been alone up here?”

“I am being attended to. You need not worry that I am allowing my health or my responsibilities to lapse.”

“No that’s not what I mean at all,” she protested before wincing and reining herself back in. “Well your health… sure, but… don’t you need people around you? I need people around me when I’m hurting. I thought everyone did.”

“Do you have people around you now?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“Not all the ones I’d like. But I have enough. I have the Scions.”

“Good people, all,” the Count affirmed. “And glad were we to learn that you had been reunited with another of your number. I look forward to meeting her when I am… better able.”

Conversation meandered for a while, around Y’shtola’s retrieval and Aurelle’s brief time in Gridania in pursuit of it. Around how Aymeric was doing, in the tones one might ask after someone’s health after a bad cold. Finding herself deftly steered back into that place of polite distance.

But as they rose to part, Aurelle could not help but make one final bid for connection.

“Count Edmont. Last time when I… I wonder if it might have helped when…” She tentatively raised her arms to indicate the hug she was offering.

And his jaw set in that way Ishgardians held their brightest flares of emotion. “I do not think that would be appropriate,” he said after a pause. “But please do not take that to mean… Rather, that is not to say that…” He faltered, and she was so sure she could hear what he wanted to express, even if he didn’t know how. Didn’t know if he should.

So she gently removed the decision and the justifications that may have muddied it from his hands, folding her arms around him, forehead resting against his collar, breathing in that solid aura and borrowing some of its strength.

An arm hesitantly curled around her back in response, the grip of the fingertips by her shoulder-blade betraying how much he had needed the contact too. How much he had needed to let himself have this.

“I know this isn’t how things are done in Ishgard,” she explained, releasing him and pulling away before his ingrained discomfort could flare back up and spoil the good of the moment. “But in Gridania, this is how we mourn.”

His eyes were glistening, but warm. “As much as our sense of propriety can bind our hands, it does serve a purpose,” he explained. “We all have our roles to follow. Our parts to play. And mine is to be strong. To lead the House through this pain.”

“I understand that. But you don’t have to be strong for me.”

His jaw tightened once more. “I am afraid I must correct you there, my dear. As a cherished ward of House Fortemps. As… For you I must be a better man than I have been.”

[saintsanddevils]

Void & Omen

Bob Reynolds/Void x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, no use of Y/N, blood & gore, dark thoughts, soulmates, canon typical violence & swearing (series will contain eventual smut)

Author’s Note: Reader’s powers are inspired by “The Bonds That Tie” book series by J Bree.

Word Count: 5K

Also posted on AO3

Masterlist

Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

————

A Few Weeks Ago…

There is something wrong with me. There always has been. Something that sleeps beneath my skin, waiting, watching. It slithers and coils around me, settling in my ribs as I breathe. It raises its head when it senses the rising tension around me, ready to strike. But I can’t let it.

If I do, we’re all dead.

That’s why I’m here, strapped to a hospital bed in the middle of Malaysia, as far from home as I can get. The bindings around my wrists and ankles are tight enough to hurt, but it helps to keep the cloying fear at bay. The pain grounds me, reminding me why I’m here. Why I chose to be here.

The doctors and scientists run around me with clipboards and beeping monitors. They observe and report. They whisper and nod. I’m just something living and breathing before them, something expendable.

Maybe I always was.

You’re a murderer. You deserve worse.

I flinch, my wrists twisting against the bindings. These thoughts… They’ve been growing steadily darker and louder ever since…

I swallow. Breathing in and out, slowly, remembering what my shitty therapist from childhood used to instruct me to do when panic surged through me like a tidal wave I was drowning in.

I can’t let that happen, not here. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not when they’re going to help me.

A familiar doctor catches my attention as she approaches my bed. Her smile and cadence reassuring. “It seems the results on your charts align with what we’re looking for. Everything is good to go. Are you ready to proceed?”

Nerves rumble in my gut through my veins, but I shove it far from my expression as I try to give her as much of a confident smile as I can. “Yes.”

She must see something in my face that has her smile wavering. She casts a quick look at the other doctors before stepping forward, leaning down to my eye level. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s completely voluntary. You can opt out whenever you want, but after this, you won’t be able to say no. It’s no longer a trial period. This is the real thing. Something you can’t escape.”

Escape.

The word echoes in my mind like a familiar tune I’ve grown accustomed to all my life. Something I’ve heard, like a lullaby that reverberates through my skin and settles in my bones. I’ve been running for so long, escaping is all I know how to do.

But for once, I don’t want to escape.

I give her a firm nod, determination settling my nerves. “I’m sure. Trust me.”

She stares a moment longer before nodding, squeezing my hand before turning to the other doctors and speaking with them.

While they surround me, poking and prodding my skin with various needles, hooking me to machines, I’m reminded of lab rats. How they’re used for experiments to see if drugs would be harmful or helpful for the human body. I feel like a lab rat with the attention and cold distance they put between me and their research.

The poster I saw on the street last week for this trial was ominous and off-putting, but it didn’t stop hope from budding like a small seed growing in my sternum. It bloomed the moment I stepped into the building, volunteering for this medical research study on the human body.

After speaking with many different doctors, it seemed they could… help me. Fix me. Make me whole again.

For years, I’ve felt this hole in my chest where blood, muscle, and tissue should be. Instead, it’s something rotten and coiling, full of regret, devastation, and grief. It’s planted there ever since my sister died touching my skin after pulling my hair and calling me names. It grew and grew, poisoning me when fear controlled those around me. It was palpable, tasting bitter on the tongue. My parents feared me the most. Maybe that’s why their deaths sent me fleeing in the night, afraid and lost. Hoping to escape what I’ve become.

The doctors say whatever is inside of me can be cured. That this curse will no longer plague me.

As the anesthesia hits and my consciousness fades, that hope rings through me with a song so unfamiliar and poetic, I fall into the dark with open arms.

————

The In-Between…

The dark welcomes me, enveloping me as if we were old friends. I drift and dream.

And with dreams, come nightmares.

“What have you done?!” The words echo from a woman who looks so familiar, I can’t quite grasp exactly who she is.

A small body lies broken and lifeless before me, their eyes vacant and hollow, dripping black as if their tears are made of ink. Their skin glassy, as if they were a broken doll.

The woman continues to scream at me and when I stare back, she pales, stepping away from me. “What are you…”

I try to comfort her, stop her, help her, but she shoves away from me.

“This is your fault! You’re a monster!”

The dream morphs and fades, but the echo of the word “monster” rings through the dark. It’s only when the dream leaves that I realize the woman is my dead mother.

A new dream surfaces, this one just as suffocating. I’m trapped in a glass box. Sharp, needle-thin knives poking into my skin with every movement I make. Blood coats every inch of me, dripping from my skin. My eyes sting and my breaths come sharp and ragged. Voices echo outside of the box. I can barely make out the shapes of doctors and scientists and strange familiar faces all staring down at me.

“She deserves this.” One says, loud enough that it makes me flinch.

“Witch,” another spits.

“Murderer.”

“Monster.”

The term is so familiar, it doesn’t hurt as it should, but the knives ensure it does. They move, slowly, deliberately, sinking further into my skin. I scream and scream, but each word, every curse they hurl at me, it makes the blades cut deeper.

“She’d be better off dead.”

Tears fall fast down my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop the blinding pain from the sharp knives shredding me apart. Blood flowing down my limbs and pooling at my feet. Outside the box, they laugh and mock.

Please, I plead into the void. Please end this.

Please.

Something shifts. The hairs on my arms raise and there’s a strange sense of awareness. Like there’s something… other here.

Like I’m not alone.

“STOP.”

The dream-induced voices still at the command. When I look up from the puddle of blood at my feet, they’re gone. Shadows and dust in their wake.

When the pain disappears, so does the glass box and the blinding white room. Instead, raging wind caresses the stinging of my limbs. And when I glance down, the blood is gone. My arms and legs don’t sting or hurt. It’s all… gone.

In this new dream, I’m standing atop a cliff overlooking a restless sea.

This… This feels far more real than any dream before. Even before the blinding pain, this feels more solid. As if I’m actually here. The cold wind, sharp and unrelenting against my exposed skin. The clouds hanging heavily above with the smell of fresh rain in the air. It feels very real.

Too real.

“There you are.” A voice, deep and ominous, catches on the breeze.

I turn to find the dark silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. I can’t see any of his features, but it doesn’t matter. Something deep in my being tells me I know him. It pulls at my center, between my ribs, and I follow this feeling until I’m standing before him, staring up into a face dark and encased entirely in shadow. But his eyes… like living embers, they pierce into me. As if he, too, knows me. Feels as I do.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

I feel myself smile at the stranger’s words. As if his presence brings comfort where I was lost in chaos only moments before.

“You feel so…” I trail off, lost in the piercing ember of his gaze.

“Familiar?” If he could smile, I hear it in his voice.

I nod.

He steps closer, his hand raising to smooth back a strand of hair from my face. The touch is startlingly cold. But what’s frightening is how real it feels. Skin on skin. Fingertip to cheekbone.

This isn’t a dream. Or, at least, not a normal dream.

As if reading my thoughts or the emotions flitting across my features, he cups my cheek boldly. The touch feels so natural, I lean into it. His skin settling whatever rages deep within my chest.

“We are bound, you and I,” his words are whispered, soft and claiming. “Two souls meant to be intertwined for eternity. You were never meant to be alone. You will never be alone. Not while I exist.”

I close my eyes. Tears burning up my throat, threatening to fall. All I’ve ever been is alone. Entirely alone. I’m so sick of it.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper back.

His other hand is there, firm against my other cheek. He holds me, caresses me, like something precious. Like something whole. Like something worthy of affection.

“It’s not real, you’re right,” he says. “But soon enough, it will be.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

His fingers reach to smooth the skin.

“I will find you, outside of this dream, this… in-between. And when I do,” he steps closer, forehead touching mine. “I will never let you go.”

The promise settles in my bones with a certainty I hope to hold on to.

“You’ll find me?” The hope is clear and whisper thin in my voice.

He nods against me, lips close to mine. “In every life, in every universe. Always.”

————

Present Day…

I wake in a panic. Lungs bursting as my eyes open to find I’m locked inside something that resembles a casket with a glass lid. It’s too dark to see clearly as my fingers flatten against the plexiglass, stifling anxiety clawing at my skin. Beads of sweat coat me like oil as I push and push at the glass.

Get out get out get out—

With one last shove, the lid is thrown open and crisp air hits me. I breathe deep as I crawl out of the strange crate, falling to the hard floor. Nausea rips through me and I’m hurling everything in my gut onto the floor.

There’s noise and voices around me, farther away, but I don’t care. My entire body is slumped and aching on the concrete floor. When I finally gain my senses and feel more present, I scan my surroundings. Various crates and boxes pile high around the strange casket I was lying in. The outline of my body is still there and monitors beep and sound as I try to stand. My legs are shaky, breaths coming rapidly, but I’m here. I’m… alive.

Why is that such a shock?

I stare down at the casket, trying to recall how I got there. The last thing I remember…

I remember lying on a table, talking to scientists and doctors about my condition. About the trial they would put me through. I remember strange dreams… but as I reach for them, they fade from my grasp. Typical.

“I-I-I’m Bob,” a voice sounds from farther in the room, but it’s so familiar, I still. “I told you, I’m, uh… Yeah, Bob.”

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” Another voice huffs in annoyance.

On shaking legs and bare feet, I creep around a stack of crates to find a group of strange-looking people. Three of them are dress heavily in gear and armor, guns pointed at a man in hospital garb, similar to my own. His dark wavy hair hangs in his face, framing pale features as he holds his hands up in surrender. His hands shake and his voice trembles as he stands there, watching as the three others bicker.

Something is frighteningly familiar about this man. Maybe that’s why I step forward without thought. When my feet move a gun shell on the floor, it alerts the others to my presence.

Guns whip around and are pointing at me within seconds.

“What the hell?” A tall man with a shield and mask shakes his head. “How many of these guys are in here?”

The short blonde woman near him points her gun at my head. “Who are you?”

I furrow my brows, raising my hands in surrender like the other guy. “Who are you? I just woke up in this place and I barely understand what’s going on.”

She slightly lowers her gun, most likely sensing I’m not truly a threat. Before she can answer, the other woman, this one with dark hair, strides forward. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but you’re all exhausting, and my job is done.”

She tries to move away towards the large doors, but the blonde raises her gun at her. “Well, see my job is to keep an eye on you. So no, you’re not going to go anywhere, anymore.”

While they bicker and threaten, I lower my hands and glance over at the other guy— Bob, if I heard him correctly earlier. He’s staring at me with furrowed brows and pinched lips. When our eyes meet, something inside of me, that thing that coils beneath my skin, stirs.

How do I know him?

“Okay,” the blonde’s voice catches my attention as she points her gun away, raising her hands. “It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

Who the hell is Valentina?

I look back at Bob and he’s still staring at me, lost and confused. When I catch his eye, he looks swiftly away, fingers twitching as he shifts from foot to foot. Something in me wants to step forward and smooth the confusion from his face, reassuring him. That scares me more than the guns and weapons still being pointed in this room.

“Yeah, so?” The masked guy speaks up with obvious annoyance.

“So, all of this stuff is O.X.E.’s secrets. But, so are we.”

I look around at the crates. Secrets… O.X.E. was the name of the company I trialed with. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just hopeful that someone could help me. Maybe even save me.

I catch sight of another open casket not far from the doors, but this one isn’t mine. My eyes flit to Bob again, to the matching patient clothes I also wear. He looks just as disoriented and cautious as I do. Did he do the trial as well? What did he want? To become something more?

He’s no longer looking at me, but I can sense he’s still very much aware of me. Every breath I take. Just as I am of him. Instead, he watches the armed group come to a steady realization.

The dark haired woman nods her head. “Which makes us liabilities that no one would miss.”

“Well, speak for yourself.” The masked man, who’s really starting to annoy me, scoffs.

“Don’t you see? We are the evidence and this is the shredder,” the blonde emphasizes. “She wants us gone.”

They continue to argue, but it seems they won’t kill each other anymore. At least, for now.

As they talk and bicker, something inside of me shifts. The air begins to smell of sulfur, the temperature slowly rising. It’s subtle enough that normal human senses can’t tell the difference, but it’s enough to make me still, assessing. I glance around, noticing the large vats in the ceiling above us. They’re big enough to take up the entire roof.

Just as I realize what we’re standing in, it dawns on me. That thing inside of me, the thing I’ve felt beneath my skin, in my ribs, in my head— it’s still there.

They… I swallow, panic creeping up my spine at an alarming rate. They didn’t cure me.

The blood drains from my face as I step back, bumping into a crate. The group stills at the sound, whirling to me with various alert expressions.

“What’s going on with her?” The dark haired woman questions.

And suddenly, that thing in my chest, in my head, in my skin, it talks to me.

Her name is Ava Starr.

I almost fall backwards at the sound. I stare wide eyed at the woman. At Ava.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out.”

My head swivels to the masked man and the voice is back. John Walker, former Captain America.

My chest begins to vibrate with heaving breaths. The room feels entirely too small and an incessant pounding continues in my ears. I grip at my chest, wondering if I rip at my skin and muscle, tearing at the bone, I can finally take whatever is inside of me, out.

“Breathe.”

The word echoes in my head, but it’s not my own. Not the same voice that was speaking before. No, this one is deeper, masculine.

My eyes catch on Bob again. Only this time, he’s staring at me with a level, sure gaze. Something steady and sure. Something grounding.

That thing inside me stills. It breathes at the command. It releases the tension in my muscles, the shaking in my limbs. It steadies me.

Whatever beast or monster hidden beneath my skin is tamed by that voice. And it’s curious and awake, vibrating in my chest like a living thing.

I ignore the feeling, hoping it goes away as I tear my gaze from him. Hoping this strange feeling of wanting to be closer to him will dissipate.

The blonde with the heavy accent raises a brow at me. “You alright?”

Yelena Belova, former Red Room assassin.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The masked guy, John, shakes his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Can’t you feel it? The temperature is rising. It’s getting hotter in here.”

The group looks around before seeing the open vats above us.

“I think we’re in an incinerator,” Ava confirms.

“They’re going to burn us,” Yelena nods. “Destroy the evidence.”

“How would you know?” John calls out, clearly annoyed.

She gives him a bland look. “Why else would she send us here to kill each other? We’re obviously everything Valentina doesn’t want tied to her. We’re expendable.”

Dread pools in my stomach at the notion. Burning alive is not how I envisioned how I would die.

“Well,” Ava sighs. “I’m not sticking around to burn.”

In seconds, Ava is gone. Disappearing entirely as if she were a ghost.

Suddenly, blaring alarms ring through the room. I curl into myself, holding my hands over my ears. The sound rattles whatever is in me and the veins in my arms catch my attention. They shift from their normal blue to a deep navy to black before shifting back to normal again. It’s constant as the alarm rings and pulses against my skin.

I stare in horror. What the hell?

When the alarm finally stops, I glance up to find Bob is closer to me. His dark eyes are on me, on my arms, and I notice a strange gleam in his eyes that flashes before sputtering out like a dying fire.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

I stare a moment longer, wondering if I imagined the flaring ring of light in his eyes. I slowly nod. “I’m fine.”

He stays assessing me, as if… as if he’s ensuring I really am alright. As if he truly cares.

Ava is now shaking and holding her own ears in front of the still-sealed door. She pants before turning to the rest of us.

“Thanks for that,” John huffs. “Looks like none of us are leaving.”

Just as he says that, the lights flicker and new light casts the room in dark crimson. The air begins to fill with the smell of sulfur and ash. A clock begins to tick in the room. Red numbers next to one of the doors starts to count down. And it’s going incredibly fast.

John sighs. “Okay, fine, it’s an incinerator.”

“Oh boy,” Bob huffs, staring up at the ceiling. “That is no way to go.”

“How would you like to die today, Bob?”

Yelena shakes her head. “We’ll need to find a way out. Look around, we have to find some sort of panel or something to open the doors.”

Bob holds a hand out to me, gesturing to help me up from my crouched position.

“Thanks,” I murmur as I reach to take his hand.

The second our skin touches, my eyes dilate and the hair on my arms raise, goosebumps spreading up my limbs. A spark of vibrating energy pulses between us. Something living and tangible. It stirs whatever lies dormant inside of me.

Like calls to like, it whispers.

Bob searches my eyes, his are just as dilated and wide. His lips part, an exhale escaping him as he stares.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” He whispers.

I hesitate, but the confession slips from me like water through fingers. “You feel it too?”

He nods, his hand tightening around mine. “It’s strange. I don’t think we’ve ever met, but,” his eyes scan my face and it feels as if he were softly touching every part he’s looking at. “I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time.”

My breath catches.

And then, he smiles, nervous and small, a huff of laughter escaping him.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s funny, every part of me tells me I know you, but I don’t even know your name.”

A small smile spreads on my lips. I whisper my name and the sound must resonate something in him cause he whispers it back, tentative and gentle. Almost reverent.

“And you’re Bob,” I smile wider. I nod to the clothes he’s wearing. “Looks like we both were looking for something more in our lives and didn’t expect this to happen instead.”

His smile freezes, eyes hardening before he swallows. “What makes you think that?”

I hesitate again, but this time, I willingly let him see that vulnerability. “I was looking for something more, too.”

He stares at me, questions flitting across his gaze.

“I found something!”

We both turn, our hands drifting apart and the live-wire energy dissipating as we find Yelena and Ava trying to open a panel on the side of one of the doors. When we make our way over, John punches the wires with his shield and Ava disappears again, shifting through the metal door.

The seconds begin to count down and the heat rises in the room. Fire and smoke start to sputter from the vats above. Unconsciously, I back into something solid behind me. Bob. His shoulder bumps into mine and his sturdy presence at my back is reassuring, calming the rising panic of being trapped in a room waiting to burn us all alive.

The clock flares in our peripheral, counting down, down, down, and the door still hasn’t opened.

“She’s coming back, right?” John’s question is full of broken hope.

My hands start to tremble, fear coursing through my veins. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die.

The thought must’ve been said aloud because Bob’s hand is sliding into mine, squeezing.

“You’re not going to die.” That voice, his voice, says in my mind. “I won’t let you.”

That pulsing energy between our skin continues at the touch. It’s comforting in this moment, even as the ticking of the countdown echoes through the room.

00:05

Bob steps closer, his torso encasing my back as the fire begins to burn brighter in the vats above.

00:04

I feel him tense, readying himself. His hand tightening in mine.

00:03

When I turn my face to look up at him, his eyes are already on me.

At least I won’t be alone.

00:02

The door screeches open, startling all of us. Ava stands before the control panel, gesturing for us to run.

Bob grips my hand tighter in his as we bolt. He pulls me with him while we run through the doorway, following after the others. I grip him tighter, ensuring we never let go.

When the incinerator fully ignites, torching everything in its wake, the pressure and velocity of the raging fire throws us all off our feet, flying forward. Rocks and stone crash above as my body slams into a wall harshly, bones and neck cracking against stone before I slump to the ground. Consciousness fades in and out, my head and body pounding with sharp bolts of pain. Just as the dark claims me, the last thing I feel is Bob’s calloused hand still cradling my own.

————

The In-Between…

I wake to the sound of screaming. The room is blinding white, fluorescent lights flickering above. It smells of antiseptic and something metallic. When the light dissipates, I see someone lying on a table, their small body convulsing. Their hair whips around as their restrained limbs and skin pulse with creeping black veins.

Realization dawns on me as I step closer.

It’s… it’s me. But I’m… much younger.

I remember this. I was nine when my power came into being. When it consumed me like a poison and sprang out of me like a disease.

Tears flow down her small cheeks as she struggles, a piece of cloth tied in her mouth to try and keep her screams quiet. I try to run forward, to help her, free her, but I’m frozen in place, my feet stuck to the floor. Something is keeping me from her.

In the corner of the room, a shadow bleeds from the white walls. It’s darkness dripping like ink as it spreads along the floor and tile. It stretches, like a hand, across the floor until it reaches younger me. She stills for a moment, before her eyes roll back into her head, veins bulging. I stare in horror as those veins begin to darken before black pulses along her skin to the beat of her heart.

I try to step away, to leave, but my legs won’t let me. I’m stuck in place, forced to watch.

From the shadows, something bleeds into the room, rising from it as if it were a doorway. They’re covered in the darkness, but it’s thick like ink or oil, dripping from their hair and skin. When the figure moves, I’m struck with the familiarity of their movement.

When their eyes meet mine, I shrink back. Their eyes are glowing chips of onyx, a black void as they stare back at me. But it’s not their eyes or features dripping in the black liquid, it’s the familiarity of their face and body. I’d know them anywhere.

Because it’s me.

I stare at myself with abject horror as they cock their head to the side, assessing me as if I were prey.

When my younger self convulses again on the table, it catches the creature’s attention— my attention. That thing that is-me-but-isn’t-me slithers forward, hovering over younger us. And that’s when I see it. The fading light emanating from the little girl’s chest. It’s faint, but brilliant. I see my other self hone in on that light.

“Stop!” I shout.

The other me stills, it’s slimy gaze meeting mine. “You cannot stop what is inevitable.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t real.”

It smiles and it’s something I’ve never seen on my own face. Something feral and hungry. “What makes you think it’s not?”

Younger me’s skin is ashen now, her dark veins bulging.

“What are you doing to her?” I try to step forward, but I’m held back, again.

The other me shrugs. “What you were born to become.”

The smell of rot and decay fill the air as the creature’s fingers trail a path up her small arm. Wherever it touches, the skin dies, withering. Nausea rises in my gut as younger me tries to twist away from her, but it’s no use. The light in her chest sputters. And when her eyes meet mine from across the room, I watch as a tear falls to the floor, her mouth gasping through uneven breaths.

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop you’re hurting her!”

The other me, the creature, tsks. “Always trying to be the hero.” It looks at me again and this time, it’s something final and knowing, like an omen. “You’ll never be the hero. You’re the one they all fear. What they’ll always fear. All you can do is embrace it.”

Her hand punches through the little girl’s chest and blood sprays the table and wall. Her scream reverberates off the walls as the monstrous version of me tears the light from her chest.

When its hand rises from the bone and muscle, blood drips down the pale skin, mixing with the strange dark liquid already coating its limbs. And in the creature’s hand, something shines bright and brilliant, like a diamond. It glitters and the light it casts feels almost sacred.

And the little girl is still. Eerily still.

“No,” I choke out, hands shaking. “No, this is wrong. This isn’t how any of this happened.”

Those pitless eyes stare into the brilliant light with awe and raw hunger. “It does not matter. It’s what you are made for. Just like him.”

I still. “Who?”

It turns their head to me, those depthless eyes void of any emotion. “Like calls to like.”

Something emerges from the darkness behind the other me. It’s form tall and imposing, a silhouette of a man. His eyes glow with a strange ember, the only light in his body made of shadow.

This time, when I step back, my feet are freed from whatever force that kept me prisoner. I’m able to back away slowly as the shadowed man tilts his head to the side, watching me.

“There you are.”

That voice…

The walls start to fracture and shake, groans echoing as the room begins to stir. The lights flicker above and everything starts to vibrate beneath my feet. The brilliant light still cradled in the hands of the dark version of me begins to sputter until it’s dim and fading. The other me takes one last look at me, scrambling against the wall, before opening her mouth and swallowing the light whole.

I tear my gaze away, only to immediately find Bob standing there, eyes wide and terrified as he stares back. I open my mouth to question him, but the room continues to crack and shake violently. The floor heaves and gives and a fissure opens beneath me, hurtling me into a swirling dark void below.

The last thing I hear is Bob screaming my name before the darkness swallows me whole.

Part Two

[cherrygarcia-07]

Heyyy i love early Spencer Reid and I haven’t see much fic with him ,are you up to do a fic with early Spencer and a nurser or actress or some put of bau reader ? I would love to and your writing skills are amazing so 🤭

Thank you so much for the req! I hope you don’t mind that I did a stage actress reader, & I hope you enjoy it!

Romeo And Juliet // Spencer Reid🎭

Synopsis: Spencer plays Romeo as he helps you run your lines for your upcoming role as Juliet Capulet

Pairing: s2 glasses! spencer x stage actress! reader

Genre: FLUFF !!!

Word Count: 1.5k

Notes/tags: nothing really! They’re ‘friends’ who are both pining after one another like crazy. Shakespeare quotes sorry but it’s the masquerade scene🤭I dug up my copy of the play for this. Spencer infodumps as per usual. Pushing my Spencer Romeo nickname agenda. He’s a kisser guys.

masterlist // please reblog if you enjoy it helps so much!!

————————————————————————————————————🎭———————————————————————————————————

Sighing, you squeezed your eyes shut as you threw your head back against the sofa, cursing Shakespeare silently in your mind. Opening night was in a few weeks and there were still lines you were fumbling your way through. You raised your palms to your face, fingers harshly rubbing your eyes as if they would magically make the words appear in front of them. Your grumbling was cut off by the gentle clink of a mug gracing the table top in front of you, the inviting smell of coffee wafting through the air towards you. As if it weighed a thousand pounds you hastily dropped your head back down, your tired gaze softening as they met the warm doe eyes staring back at you.

“You looked like you could use a break.” Spencer spoke softly, absentmindedly adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

“Thank you.” You breathed, leaning forward to pick up the mug, wrapping your hands around it in bliss. “This play is driving me crazy. I’ve barely been able to get a hold of my useless scene partner lately to rehearse.”

He hummed understandingly, tilting his head to read the title of the pages strung haphazardly across the table. “Romeo and Juliet, huh?” He smirked to himself, that little glimmer in his eyes he gets when he’s about to ramble about something appearing bold and bright. “You know Romeo and Juliet is rarely ever performed in full. Despite the prologue referencing ‘two hours’ traffic’ the full play would take over three hours. Many productions opt to follow the first Quarto instead to keep the story moving efficiently.”

You cracked a small smile, something as simple as the sound of his honeyed voice sweetening you up. “Well two hours or three it’s giving me grief.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked, watching with a subtle sense of affection as you sipped at the coffee he’d made you.

“You could run my lines with me?” You suggested shyly, blinking up at him. “It’s really just this one scene that’s bugging me.”

Spencer faltered for a second, brows furrowing and lips pursing just a tad in that way that always had an inexplicable feeling crackling through you like a fire. He nervously scratched the back of his neck as his eyes dropped to the floor before meeting yours again, the contact like a trigger for your breath to catch in your throat. “I’m not really the best actor.” He muttered, drawing an adoring chuckle out of you.

“You don’t have to be a good actor, Spence. I just need you to read back to me.” He nodded hesitantly as you set your mug down and picked up your script. “Do you need the lines?”

“No, I uh, I have it memorised.” Of course he did. “What scene is it?”

“Act 1, scene 5.” You replied, rising to your feet. Standing face to face, you could see the way his lips parted in surprise, rosy and soft under the glow of his living room lamp. His eyes were wide and glossy, blinking back at you and casting shadows of his lashes onto his perfectly sculpted cheeks. God was he beautiful.

“That’s the masquerade scene.” He croaked eventually, face still frozen.

“Yes it is.” You swallowed a lump in your throat as you took a careful step towards him. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm-hm.” He squeaked, shifting where he stood as the sound of your own heartbeat filled your ears.

A few moments of silence passed, your gazes awkwardly dancing around each other like a bashful ballroom scene, the flame of the candle on the table sputtering between you like it was being fuelled by your nerves. It was a stretch, but perhaps you could blame its gentle heat for the burning blush spreading throughout your body. Across from you, Spencer’s hands flexed at his sides before he hastily rubbed them against his pants. Perhaps he was blaming their clamminess on the same thing.

“Are you going to start?” You broke the silence with a breathy giggle. “If I profane…”

“Oh! Oh, right of course,” he jumped slightly, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. “Wait, I’m Romeo?”

“Well, who else?” You teased lightly, a sudden hit of bravery jolting through you. The two of you wore matching blushes now, but you convinced yourself it was the candle’s fault and not yours.

“I-If I profane,” Spencer began, stuttering as he cleared his throat. “with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.”

You tried to focus on the words before you, but your mind was spinning. You hoped he couldn’t see the way the paper was crumpling slightly beneath the weight of your clutching fingertips, your heart clenching in your chest.

“My lips-“ he continued, faltering with slight embarrassment as he tried to keep his voice steady. “two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch w-with a tender kiss.”

Like he’d spoken some kind of magic word, your eyes fell to his mouth instantly and you forced yourself to look away before you spoke- confidently and surely as if your stomach was void of butterflies.

“Good pilgrim, you wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrim’s hands do touch.” You stepped towards him, taking his hand in yours and laying your palms flat against each other in the ever shrinking space between you. “And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”

Spencer gulped almost comically as his fingers twitched against yours, a heavy exhale leaving his nose before he spoke again, a tiny shred of confidence beginning to peak through his voice. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim,” you laughed, sweet and airy, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!” He continued, following your rhythm effortlessly as the living room around you faded away, replaced by chandeliers and masked dancers twirling around the two of you in the centre of it all. “They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Saints do not move,” you dropped Spencer’s hand and this time he took the step towards you, the air thick and heavy with something you couldn’t name, “though grant for prayer’s sake.”

“Then move not while my prayer’s effects I take.” Tender eyes met yours, the innocence twinkling within them earlier dimming to something deeper. The flicker of the candle’s flames cast a fond glow in his glasses as his voice dipped lower. “Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged.”

You bit your lip to suppress the sigh itching behind them, another silence passing in the small gap between you. You could no longer blame the candle for its meddling as your body heat radiated off of one another, mingling in the air before you as your cheeks turned cherry red.

“We’re um,” Spencer whispered, barely bursting the bubble. “We’re supposed to kiss. I mean technically not us, Romeo and Juliet are supposed to kiss. I- I didn’t mean to suggest-“

“Then do it.” The words left your lips in one breath before you could stop them, spilling out like water as the candle fizzled out under its force. Needing no further invitation, Spencer finally closed the gap, your chest almost flush against his as your hearts beat in tandem with each other. His hand cupped your cheek with a touch so light you could barely feel it at all, although the weight of the moment was all you could think of. Eyes fluttering shut, you melted as you felt his soft lips finally brush against yours, slotting together with so much grace you couldn’t help but feel that they were meant to be there, like words written on a page by fate. Like the words on the paper that fell out of your hands and to the ground as you gently threw your arms around his neck.

After a blissful moment you pulled away just slightly, faces still so close that his breath fanned against the tip of your nose. “Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Your voice shook with affection as you continued.

“Sin from my lips?” Spencer smiled, small yet enamoured, “o trespass sweetly urged!” He paused as he tilted your chin upwards towards his lips once more. “Give me my sin again.”

Your lips met once more, moving against one another in a dance worthy of the ballroom around you, years of longing poured into each kiss, each sigh, each giggle as he peeled off his foggy glasses before crashing into you once more as if possessed by the passion of the candle light. The play was forgotten entirely, pages tossed ignored on the ground and the worries of opening night merely a hallucination of the past. There was no need to practice anymore, for you had your partner already.

Spencer sighed as he pulled himself away by force, as if it pained him to do so. “I think you’re ready for opening night.” He smirked, shy but proud.

“Oh yeah?” You grinned back, arms still threaded around his neck.

“Hmm.” He hummed, “very convincing.”

“I’m glad you think so, Romeo.” With that you laughed as you let your fingers find their way into his hair, pulling him closer.

He followed you effortlessly, caving into your touch like it was where he belonged as he beamed against your lips.

“Though I think we should probably rehearse the kiss a couple more times.”

-

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Pulse - Portgas D. Ace

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

CW: trauma, mentions of death, and slightly suggestive teasing, kinda proofread? I got tired :/ | wc: 15,671 🫠 SPOILERS: Amazon Lily / Marineford / Post Marineford Y'all can thank @captainportgasdace for this. as agreed upon previously, @silentgravesdontexist you're tagged for this piece MasterList (linked at bottom too) Dividers from here

There had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

It wasn’t always apparent, but it was there, lurking, much like the many sea kings of the Calm Belt. The Calm Belt…you huffed a little, you could liken Ace to that stretch of sea - so much lurking beneath the surface. 

If you looked at him hard enough you’d be able to see the large shadows swimming not too far away. Though today, or rather, following the first anniversary of his very close call with death, the summit war, you couldn’t help but feel those shadows had migrated closer to the surface. Large, dark, intimidating - moments from attacking.

That needn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you could finally take them down. Maybe he’d even let you help.

Or so you hoped.

No mind. You had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You studied your dear friend from afar, starting from his head - his hair had grown longer over the course of the year or so he’d been recuperating for. A trim was in order - if only to remove the bottoms and promote healthy hair growth. Regardless of your skill with scissors, he’d probably let you trim it for him if you asked him to. Anywho, he sat cross-legged on the sand, his shoulders hunched slightly forward as he hugged his knees. Your eyes were immediately pulled down to the marred skin of his back.

Where his back was once crowned with the mark of the strongest man on the seas, there was now an empty patch of scarred skin: a testament to the void left by the loss of a father. It was still the same back though. The same back that had stood between you and adversaries unthinkingly: raising both morale and wrapping you in security. It was the same back, just…missing a little something.

You couldn’t help the way the sand crunched under your feet, still you tried your best not to disturb his reverie. He did little more than glance over to confirm you weren’t a threat, before silently turning his gaze back to the sea that he would no doubt be taking to soon enough. He would be much like a child returning to the embrace of his parents in a sense…as he was “a child of the sea.”

There really had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

You had to tear your eyes away from him. Quite the feat when the sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow upon your friend - who was already beautiful enough under the dingy lights of pirate ship cabins, let alone during this golden hour. You knew well enough that you’d give yourself away if you kept staring at him. While it wasn’t wise to wait, you also knew that confessing to a person in the midst of grief was insensitive. And, you had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You instead took a moment to trace his line of sight, attempting to follow it with your own gaze. You soon took a seat beside him, sitting cross-legged much like he was, only that you opted to hold your hands within your lap, rather than hug your knees.

It had been a while since you’d both come to this island after all that had happened. While walks on the beach were regular, and you did leave the house, it had been a while since you’d really taken the time to admire the vastness of the water. It had been a while since you’d really focused on the way the breeze felt as it tousled your hair tenderly. It had been a while since you’d really dug your feet into the sand and enjoyed the little poking sensations of the sand under your toes.

“Y’think I can get my back tattooed again?” 

You blinked yourself back from your thoughts, turning to look at the man to your side, his brows furrowed as he continued to look out to the sea. In the time it took you to process his question and consider how to respond, he’d already found his answer: “I can’t, can I?”

“I think it would be better not to,” you agreed nodding slowly, “were you considering getting another back tattoo?”

His grip on his arms tightened as he hugged himself tighter, gaze finally moving away from the sea, falling onto the sand instead, taking your heart with it. You leaned back to study his back once again, contemplating.

“There’s always your lower back,” you rocked forward to try and capture his attention, “or your butt.”

The incredulous look he gave you had your eyes crinkling in mirth. Though you did find yourself looking away soon enough, your embarrassment catching up to you. It went down a little bit-kind of…when you heard him give a quiet, but amused chuckle, “nah my butt won’t work!”

You glanced his way, and the instant that he recognized you were looking at him, he continued, “unless you’re suggesting I go around with my ass cheeks out.”

“Ace!” You groaned, your hands immediately going to cover your face, your whole body hunching forward in embarrassment as he erupted into boisterous laughter.

After a moment, and through the scalding heat of your cheeks, you asked, “would you wear a shirt to compensate for having your bottom half exposed?”

When you heard him hum, you braved a peek through your fingers to see his brows raised into a thoughtful expression, brown eyes reflecting the warm pinks and oranges of the sunset. You looked away the moment his eyes met yours, cheeks burning yet again.

“Y’know what?” You looked up again, and he grinned, teeth glistening in the light as he answered you. “Nope! I wouldn’t.”

When you hid your face all over again, you were entreated to even more of his beloved hearty laughter. You could feel the way his shoulders shook beside you, despite not being in contact. Your pride battled against your satisfaction trying to force you to be upset even though you’d invited this kind of teasing, and enjoyed the effect it was having on him.

Though laughter right now was mostly just an anesthesia: it numbs things, but doesn’t really address the cause.

When his laughter died down, he let out a long breath, “I remember pops had it on his back.”

You turned to look at him again, he was more relaxed now, one arm resting on a bent knee, the other behind him as a support with his other leg stretched out in front of him. Looking down at his chest, he placed a hand on it, “guess my chest wouldn’t be a good idea either.”

At his suggestion you found yourself staring at the terrifying mark marring his front. You gulped, seeing the crimson of the past. The crimson that had finally become a warm peach. A warm peach that rose and fell rhythmically with the breaths he took. A closed, covered, mostly healed warm peach.

“Hey! Hey! Breathe!” He poked at you.

You shook your head, blinked violently, and took in a deep gulp of air. Snapping your eyes to his face you were treated to his raised brow and remorsefully awkward grin. You pursed your lips petulantly. Looking away you answered, “I think we should avoid,” you paused, “tender areas.”

“Tender, huh?” He looked back at the great blue.

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you let it slip out as you too looked out at the sea.

He chuckled humorlessly, “you say that a lot.”

“It’s because I am,” you stood firmly by your opinion.

“I must’ve given you a real scare,” you hated how guilty he sounded.

“Marco told you, didn’t he?” You mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, he told me you wouldn’t stop crying unless you fell asleep,” he huffed out, “something about you not eating well either too.”

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you reiterated, looking at him, taking him in.

“You already said that,” he raised a brow at you, a corner of his lips upturning slightly.

“Just let me count my blessings Ace,” you rested your head on your knees.

He didn’t respond, but you could hear him shift a bit beside you. Turning your head you saw that wistful quality of his resurface on his face, the pretty features relaxing once again. You pondered on what he’d said…

“Hey Ace,” you raised your head and he turned to look at you, “what if you got it tattooed on your pulse?”

“Huh?”

You raised your arm up to reveal your wrist, pointing to the area you mentioned, “it’s one of the places you can check for a heartbeat.”

He stared at you, the gears in his head turning, “it’s a little less obvious than your back, and much smaller,” you continued, “but it’s still readily visible,” you looked down, “and it’s got something to do with the heart too.”

He was in your space immediately, “that’s a great idea!” You looked up at him, his eyes glimmering pools of molten chocolate. “You’re so smart! Thanks!”

“Happy to help,” you smiled back at him, and he pulled back a little, staring at you for a moment too long - ah, “what’re you thinking about?”

Much like you had earlier, the pirate blinked himself back to attention with a shake of his head. He looked away for a moment, scratching at the back of his head, a sheepish smile taking his features as his eyes flickered back to you, “‘s nothin’.”

“Fair enough,” you shrugged, “I’ll help you find a tattoo artist and get the design down if you’d like.”

“You would?” He lit up some more, sparks of his old vigor reigniting.

“Of course.”

-_-

It hadn’t taken more than a week or two to find a tattoo artist on the island. There were a couple and Ace found himself liking the older lady artist more, so you went on over to her with Whitebeard’s jolly roger proudly etched on a paper. The fiery man had burst into full-bodied laughter at the offended scolding she’d given the two of you: of course she knew Whitebeard’s jolly roger! The…late…Emperor had come and established a sort of peace over their quaint little island a decade ago or so, even going so far as to chase off some thugs from her little shop.

The former division commander was grinning from ear to ear when the artist sang his father’s praises. She did not withhold any of her opinions about how manly and handsome he appeared to her either. There was a small prickling in the back of your eyes, but you managed to keep it together, especially as a warm hand came to rest its weight between your shoulder blades. Turning to Ace, you were greeted with an equally warm grin as he excitedly told you he had a great feeling about this lady.

Oh! And that you did an amazing job finding her, “leave it to you to find such great people!” He beamed. 

“I’m so grateful I found you too,” you stressed, returning his grin with a smile of your own. 

Your delightful buddy froze momentarily before coming back to his senses, “thank you.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Not just for finding the lady.”

“No thanks needed.”

“Though if I remember things,” he thought aloud, “didn’t I find you?”

You rolled your eyes, “oh no, a very good person found me.”

He chuckled lightly at your sarcastic tone, before your attention was required by the tattoo artist.

She did a truly spectacular job with the tattoo, and even provided the ointment he’d need to help promote faster healing. Over the course of tattooing the young man she seemed to realize you’d probably remember the aftercare instructions better than he would. 

She wasn’t wrong about that.

Ace felt like his tattoo was mostly healed by the end of the following month. The old lady had mentioned that given the location, it would take a while to heal fully though, so…You were the one worrying most days. Especially as Ace began to make the necessary preparations to embark back out on the seas again - he was healed enough for it, per the instructions and information Marco had left you with. 

It was a great deal of fun though, working on building your small ship together, you were just constantly worried he’d scrape himself and get the tattoo infected or something. He often shrugged it off, reminding you that he was made of fire after all, and could avoid scratches.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “you’re hot in the literal sense.”

He burst out laughing again. He did seem significantly more lively these days. Especially following the tattoo. Though you weren’t sure if he’d slain some of the beasts within, or if the shadows had simply chosen to recede from the surface.

You got a glimpse of the answer one night as the two of you sat in front of the fire he’d started up, staring at the tattoo on his wrist while waiting for the fish and veggies you’d caught and scavenged earlier to cook. Your dear friend’s wistful quality resurfaced from the unfathomable depths that made him up, though with a tinge of nostalgia this time. There was a very small, very deeply fond, uplift to the line of his mouth.

You marched over to his side, plopping yourself down beside him, a basket of fruit and a knife in hand. He looked up at you, eyes reflecting the warmth of the fire beside him…or perhaps the warmth of the fire within. He was always so warm.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he grinned and you could feel the warmth of domesticity mix in with his naturally warm aura and creep up on you.

Looking back at the basket of fruits in your lap, you picked up a pineapple, “well a little snack before won’t completely ruin our appetites,” you were about to begin cutting into it when he took it out of your hands.

“Here, lemme show you a neat trick,” he proceeded to twist the top of the pineapple off, hit the bottom of it on his knee, and forcefully roll it between his hands, “now you can pull out each piece, no knife needed!” He grinned, pulled a piece out and handed it to you.

You took it, impressed with the new piece of information, “that is neat!”

Silences had become increasingly common between the two of you. Tonight was no different, the two of you sat side by side, snacking on a pineapple, he did have to hand it over to you to switch out fish and vegetable skewers. At which point you decided to poke at the corner of his mouth with a piece of the fruit and he opened to eat it  without thinking twice. Given how your relationship had transformed over the course of his healing period, this level of closeness had also become commonplace between you two.

It didn’t mean anything though. It could be likened to the way you’d feed any of your close friends. 

You were trying not to fault yourself for wanting something more though. It wasn’t as if this feeling was new. Ace always burned so bright, and was so warm-and you weren’t unique in these feelings. What was unique about you, was the situation you were afforded. Again: it didn’t feel right to burden him with your feelings while he was essentially fighting for his life in a whirlpool of turmoil trying to drown him.

“What’cha thinkin’ about there?” He asked as he passed you a skewer of cooked fish.

You shook your head. You were a coward. You’d think almost losing him would push you to reveal just how important he was to you. Verbally reveal it that is. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” He nodded, understanding as ever. “Got it.”

“So you’re going to be setting off soon huh?” You chose to change the topic.

He hummed, stoked the fire a bit, and paused. He turned to look at you, brow furrowed.

“I’m going to be setting off soon?” He reiterated, confused. “You’re not coming?”

“Would you want me to?” You looked at him. “I mean, I remember you were upset over me staying with you when you were relegated to bedrest.”

“That was because you had better things to do than take care of me,” he bit back.

“If I wasn’t actively caring for you I might have gone insane though,” you worked to remove the skin from the fish, “it helped me.”

“You,” he tore into his fish with an aggressive bite, chewing in frustration, “you have your own dreams and adventures, and you wasted a whole year here with me though, the least-”

“Time spent with you is never wasted,” you cut in, effectively stopping his mouth from moving, “time spent with you, is never time wasted,” you repeated again meeting his gaze as he stared at you.

He just continued staring at you, with nothing but the crackling of the fire and the soft rolling of the waves filling the space between you.

He remembered to finish chewing and swallow his food soon enough though, blinking himself back to reality as he did so and looking at the fire he confirmed, “you’re coming with me,” his tone was firm with his conviction, “we’re setting sail, together.”

“Okay,” you nodded, nibbling into your fish, “I’m glad.”

He muttered something, or perhaps he whispered it, the words were stolen away by the breeze before you could make out what he said though. “What is it?”

“I wouldn’t leave you here on this island by yourself,” he shook his head, “not after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I did all that because I wanted to,” you drilled into him, “you don’t owe me a thing.”

Your brow pinched, your displeasure making itself evident on your face, “if you’re just going to befriend me out of obligation and guilt,” it was your turn to bite into your fish aggressively, “then leave me here.”

“I never said that!” He shot back. “We were friends before all this, and I’d rather die than lose you.”

“Please don’t talk about dying,” it was a quick, breathless, desperate request.

“Sorry.”

You shook your head, “no no I’m sorry,” your appetite was vanishing rapidly, “what you went - what you’re probably still going through - is worse than,” you swallowed thickly, tears welling up, “than me just watching it happen.”

“Hey,” you tried to wipe away the tears, fish skewer still in hand, “hey, look at me,” you turned to face your dear one - his intensity entrapping you.

He took your skewer from your hand, stabbing it in the sand next to his own. His larger palm enveloped your own as he pulled the appendage towards his chest pressing it right above his heart. You found your face warming inordinately-and it wasn’t because of your proximity to the fire. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he took deep breath after deep breath, felt the rhythmic - kind of quick - pounding of his heart.

“I’m alive,” he reminded you, “I’m still here.”

You nodded, bottom lip trembling, “I’m so grateful you are.”

He opened his mouth, about to say something, then looked away with a huff. His brows pushed down on his eyes, “I want to take you off this island with me.”

You nodded at him, hand still held above his chest, where you could feel his heart rapidly pumping blood to the rest of him - intact. Alive.

“I want to leave this island together,” you agreed.

“Then it’s set!” He grinned, and released your hand leaving it to fall limply to your side as he grabbed the skewers and handed you yours again.

That was also when he remembered the food he was still cooking. Seems he’d almost burnt the remaining fish, but they were thankfully saved just in time.

-_- 

Ace clearly loved being at sea again.

It suited him so well. Surrounded by blue on all sides, blazing his own path - own course through the waters. 

A child of the sea come home. 

You could see it in the way light seemed to dance off of him every instant of the day: the ethereal glow of dawn upon his defined features, the halo that the afternoon sun drew on his head, the gleam of the sunset on his back, or even the twinkling of the stars in his eyes. You could see how at home he was out on the restless waters.

Perhaps he was so at home on the restless waters was because he could actually see the restlessness? Maybe that was why when the sea calmed, you would catch him glancing back at his newest tattoo from time to time.

One of the times, he’d been laying down on one of your small sailboat’s little benches, his head resting near your own, as you sat on the floor of the deck beside him. He raised his hand up, staring at his wrist under the blanket of stars in the sky. You couldn’t help but notice, looking away from one beauty to another.

You weren’t too sure what possessed you in that moment, but you reached out a finger and began to trace the iconic crossbones and mustache embedded within your dear friend’s skin. It was as your finger finished dragging along the mustache that he maneuvered his hand so that his fingers could clamp down upon yours.

The first time he’d done this (held your hand) after the…after the war, you’d both been gripping each other’s hands like you were both on the edge of a cliff, afraid the other would fall to their demise if you let go. Though the first time he’d gently held your hand, you’d startled and he’d let go soon after. Of course since then, you’ve held him and been held by him as the grief of it all washed over you in waves. 

So anyway, hand holding didn’t mean anything. 

His thumb pressed down on the vein in your wrist, making you more aware of how fast your heart was beating. It didn’t really mean anything though - what he was doing right now. 

No matter how much you wanted it to.

When he stopped pressing down on your pulse, choosing instead to rub circles into your skin, you turned to look at him and meet his gaze as he gave you yet another of those bright smiles, leaving the heat to crawl up your chest and squeeze it.

-_-

When you arrived at the island the pose was pointing to the following day, Ace once again took your hand - to help you disembark. You spent the day scouring the place for new information, trying out the local dishes (with Ace falling asleep mid bite), and taking in the local sites. It involved a lot of you being dragged from corner to corner, your hand clutched firmly within his own as he led you around. By the time the evening fell, you both found yourselves on a beach front again, your narcoleptic buddy’s head on your shoulder as he snored away.

Hmm…you’d probably camp out somewhere near your Mini Moby tonight. Your brain couldn’t help but wander about as you played with the thick waves of Ace’s hair. You’d decided to do honest work for the time that the former Division Commander was healing. The reality was you’d been thrust into piracy due to your…”scholarly” pursuits, so of course you’d be doing honest work. It hadn’t paid much is all. After all, the island that Marco had left the two of you at was a quaint, quiet place that wasn’t too far from Saobody, and friendly to Whitebeard pirates. 

You had to admire his wisdom in choosing the place. It had both mountain and beach environments and a lot of greenery, so it would be soothing to the mind as well as the body. The local doctor was also very adept, and there was an extremely talented apothecary there as well. Marco had thought of everything.

You could hear your friend’s usual grumble, moan, and whine that he made whenever he woke up from one of his spells. The weight on your shoulder lifted, as his inky tresses slipped past your fingers as he sat up.

“Good morning,” you hummed jokingly.

“Morning?” He yawned, stretching out. “Did I sleep that long?” He was squinting at his surroundings.

“Nope,” you rolled out your shoulders, “I was thinking of setting up camp near the Mini Moby.”

He blinked at you, “food first,” and grabbed your hand to pull you up with him.

How he was so awake already was beyond you. Perhaps it was a consequence of having to deal with this regularly. 

“Usually you ask if the person is hungry first,” you huffed, working to steady yourself on your feet after being sat for a while.

“You aren’t hungry?” He blinked at you.

Truly it was fascinating how this man before you managed to be fierce, fiery, and beautiful one moment, and then absolutely boyishly adorable the next. “I am,” you nodded, your mouth pulling itself up and pushing your eyes into a smile.

Your dear friend stared at you in silence for a bit, before tugging you by your conjoined hands with a loud declaration of, “then let’s eat!”

And eat, you did. On the house too. Thanks to Ace’s battle prowess he managed to stop the restaurant from getting looted at gunpoint. It wasn’t some casual dine and dash, this guy was threatening the cook’s life!

Though Ace  likely cost the owner the same amount as what he’d have lost from the looting with how much the commander ate. The old man didn’t mind though. 

His daughter definitely didn’t either. You noticed her sneaking glances the pirate’s way the whole evening. You couldn’t blame her, even if you didn’t look directly at the sun, it was still impossible to ignore.

It seems that the personified sunshine in question didn’t notice her longing gazes as he, once again, took your hand to lead you out when you were both done. He was talking your ear off about Luffy again, just like he used to before…

…before everything happened.

The only difference was the way he was holding on to you this time. You found yourself squeezing his palm and watched as he stood at attention and turned to you with a curious expression, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “I’m just happy.”

You were greeted with a warm silence following your layered confession. Soon enough he was squeezing your hand as well, “me too.”

You didn’t get to see his face as he began pulling you along again.

-_-

On the next island, your friend once again dealt with an issue. Well he dealt with it prior to you even getting there. Due to some Marine’s negligence, there were sea kings terrorizing the locals of said island. Three sea kings to be exact. You found that out when you were greeted with cheers as you docked right after helping Ace take them out so you could arrive safely. Free food, free lodging, among other things were offered to the two of you.

Given you had contributed somewhat, you didn’t mind, the food was going to be made from the Sea King meat anyway. You also didn’t mind much when all the joy resulted in a revelry with your companion at the center of it all. 

You sat, a mug of spicy cocoa in one hand, your cheek pressed into the other as you watched him, arm in arm with other men, children, and the occasional lady: smiling, laughing, celebrating. 

Were the shadows lingering deep within the waters? Or were they on the verge of bursting forth from just beneath the surface you wondered.

There was no denying you loved seeing this side of your beloved friend. Joy suited him well. You just couldn’t help but be concerned that it wasn’t unburdened.

Oh! He was looking at you now. 

He waved you over with an excited smile, to which you raised your mug of cocoa. That made him furrow his brow. Before you knew it he was marching over to you, snatching your hand again, and dragging you to join him. He was kind enough to wait for you to chug your cocoa…well…kinda. He chugged a bunch of it for you when you couldn’t get through it fast enough.

After attempting to do the local dance with him, and laughing along with the crowd at your miserable failure to do so, you were invited to eat some more. In true Ace manner, he fell asleep mid bite, causing everyone to panic. You on the other hand simply chuckled and did your part: lifting his head, wiping his face and his bangs, before gently placing his cleaned head on the table and adjusting his hair a bit. You then unpacked your shawl and transformed it into a makeshift pillow, before sliding it under your unconscious companion’s head. 

It would seem that display resulted in some misunderstandings as the lodging you were offered subsequently was a single room with a bed of a moderate size meant to be shared. You were too embarrassed to ask for a change given they’d given you this room out of their own generosity. The man to your side didn’t seem bothered by it though. Well, it wouldn’t be all that bad really. 

Or so you thought. 

Or so you thought.

Because the former commander was not a peaceful sleeper. You woke up as you’d fallen asleep for the most part. If you’d shifted while sleeping then it wasn’t anything too drastic. Ace on the other hand was a complete starfish. His forearm was on your neck, one of his legs bent over your stomach, with his head off his pillow and a hair’s breadth away from rolling off the bed.

And when his head did inevitably roll off, while you were trying to figure out how and if you even wanted to untangle yourself or not, it took the rest of him with it. As anyone who grew up the way he did would, his instincts kicked in and you found yourself being dragged across the bed while he crashed onto the ground loudly - groaning as he did. You’d ended up tightly tangled in the covers now, with part of Ace’s weight pulling it taut and making it difficult to roll out of the cocoon it had wrapped around you.

When you asked him to get off of your cover, he began apologizing, “ah jeez, did I wake you?” You hated the guilt seeping into every word. “Sorry.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, still tightly bound in the covers, “I woke up right before the disaster struck.”

He didn’t look completely convinced that was the case, so you decided to elaborate: “I was trying to figure out how to get up without disturbing your sleep, when you rolled off.”

He raised a brow at you, and you shot him a pointed look of your own, pursing your lips to further solidify your stance in this staring war. Seems like it paid off because soon enough his shoulders shook with his chuckles. You soon found yourself chuckling along, which of course reminded you that you were still stuck.

“Uh Ace,” you wiggled about, tugging at the cover still under his bottom, “a little help.”

“Oh yeah! Sorry!” He was grinning as he moved aside this time, going so far as to clamber up onto the bed again and help unroll your burrito self. He chuckled at your bedhead when you finally got free, his eyes crinkling and his dimples popping up as he looked at your disheveled appearance. 

It was weird. 

Feeling at ease and self-conscious all at once that is. He’d seen you in worse states, yet you still wanted to look pretty in front of him.

Though as his calloused hands came to pat down the mess your head had gotten itself into to help you get it under control, the emotional pendulum swung more towards being at ease. 

“Y’know,” he hummed as he continued to pat and play with your hair, “I think I like this look on you!”

Just like that you were slung straight back into unease, the heat clambering up your face. You groaned and covered your face, pulling away from him-and receiving a little complaint-as you threw yourself back on the pillows.

“What’s with that reaction?”

You turned away from him, still covering your face. “Oi!” His hand was on your arm turning you back towards him. “Don’t hide from me.”

You decided to peek out from behind your hands, “you know most people don’t say ridiculous bedheads look good.”

“Well yours does!” He grinned, ruffling your hair without any regard for how difficult it may be to style.

You huffed, lips gently curving upwards. You were blanketed by a gentle warmth, and it wasn’t from the sun. No this warmth could only be achieved in the presence of the man beside you. You let yourself look at him as you smiled - and he mirrored your expression. 

-_-

After that first day on the island you started to feel bad about not paying for things, so you decided to offer labor in exchange given the islanders wouldn’t take your berries. At the bath house you fixed a few things around the lady’s home, then bathed. When it came to the food, you washed some dishes in the back including all of the dishes both you and Ace ate out of. He helped of course. 

The rest of your day was spent wandering around, reading newspapers and picking up information from conversations. At one point the two of you separated to explore different areas. You found a cute little shop where you could make things out of wood. When its artisans noticed you staring, they invited you inside. They’d even taught you some basics before leaving you to your own devices with your own small slab of wood.

You became completely absorbed within the atmosphere the shop had to offer, completely losing track of time with the family of artisans as you all worked with gentle conversation flowing. You hadn’t fully realized just how much time had passed until you heard the breathless voice of your traveling companion, frantically inquiring if they’d seen you. Of course he noticed you soon enough, given you’d turned to look at him.

“There you are!” He beamed, relieved to see you,  before his expression flipped into something frustrated.

“Oh my!” The voice of a lady, who’d been patiently teaching you how to whittle, cut into your conversation. “Dear, we had so much fun we didn’t realize we’d worked ourselves well into the evening!”

Sure enough when you turned to the clock it was nearing 10:30 in the evening. The sun had set at least three hours ago. Oh. Looking back to Ace, you paid closer attention to the fact that he was still breathing heavily.

He’d been worried. 

But why? It wasn’t that late. What had he come across during his time wandering on his own?

Hmmm…you could empathize with his concern, though that wasn’t enough to completely appease you. After all it wasn’t like he didn’t go missing for hours on end. You still remember the panic of going about searching the island for him: especially when he was still in bandages!

“Seems like now you know how I feel when you go missing,” you stood up, patting the wood shavings from your project off your lap, and taking off the apron.

“You!” You could almost see the little flickers of flames coming off of his barely clothed shoulders. “I thought something happened to you!”

The father of the little family of artisans began laughing loudly, standing up to give Ace a pat on the shoulder, “now now, I know you’re frustrated,” then he leaned up and whispered something into the former commander’s ear.

Ace’s eyes met yours for an instant before his face and shoulders turned red, his eyes going as wide as saucers, and a little flame flared out from his head. When the older man laughed some more, the pirate tore his gaze away and put on his hat so it covered his face, grumbling, “thanks for the advice.” 

Looking back up at you-face still pink-he announced, “we need to get going.”

“Just a moment, I need to sweep away my wood shavings,” you responded.

“Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?” It was the elder lady - the grandmother of this quaint family - that offered.

You smiled and shook your head, “I appreciate the offer,” then you jabbed a thumb at your companion, “but this man can eat twice or even three times his weight in food.”

“Hey!”

You turned to him, your smile cheeky, “I’m glad you can.”

That took the wind out of his sails entirely. It was a bit unfair of you, but you really were glad that he could eat like he used to. The whole event was settled and you were promptly shooed out, your shavings left on the floor, as they intended to work some more and there was no point in you sweeping before they finished. 

“Come back tomorrow to finish your work, alright sweetie?” Was the parting they gave you, and you agreed to return the following day.

Ace took your hand the moment you were outside the little family shop, grip tight on yours as he led you through the dimly lit streets. “I got us a room with two beds this time,” he said, eyes forward, “it’s at a different inn though.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, “are you - are you okay?” You squeezed his hand in yours. “I was a little insensitive earlier.”

The action made him halt altogether, his shoulders dropping the tension they were holding as he breathed out. 

“I saw some Marines,” oh. That explained his earlier outrage.

“What’re they here for?” You sped up a little to look at his face. “Do you know?”

“Remember those sea kings we took down?”

“They’re here to finally deal with them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “now they’re just staying here because the island folk are mad at them for ignoring them for months.”

“Urgh.”

The corruption and hypocrisy of the Marines was something you had always been critical of. Of course this meant you were also privy to the hypocrisy and hegemony of the World Government (more like World’s Ratified Mafia). And of course such knowledge and attitudes were absolutely intolerable under their dictatorship so soon enough you had a humble bounty on your head.

Justice. 

They had gone and assumed themselves infallible deities: justifying all their behavior through the abuse of the word, they’d completely perverted the concept of justice.

Urgh the sheer egotism.

Disgusting. 

“I saw them not too far from the Mini Moby when I went there looking for you,” he broke you out of your angry reverie, “then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

You squeezed his hand, “thank you for worrying about me.”

He squeezed your hand back, a silent “you’re welcome.”

“Good thing my bounty doesn’t have a photo right?” 

The marines could never get a clear shot of you for some reason…

“The most they had was a really awful looking drawing, like Blackleg from the Straw Hats!”

Ace’s lips pulled into a massive, very amused grin. 

You still remembered the way he’d laughed himself to the ground, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes when he first saw the wanted poster. Even Marco and…Thatch…had gotten a laugh out of it. 

“It looks nothing like you!”

“What do you mean?” You grinned holding the paper up to your face. “You mean my nose doesn’t look like a carrot?”

And they’d laughed some more. Ace’s laugh was especially memorable, his strong shoulders shaking, his freckled face completely consumed by unbridled mirth. You never stood a chance - sweet, with a smile like that?

You never stood a chance.

“They didn’t see you right?” After all, his wanted poster was much clearer than yours. 

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I’m keeping a low profile until we get back to the New World,” he winked at you, “like we agreed.”

“Good!” You squeezed his hand again.

Later, you’d squeeze his shoulder as you shook him awake. 

Nightmares.

You moved out of the way just in time as he gasped himself awake, chest heaving as he panted for air. He looked around frantically as you soothed him. Which was when he finally turned to look at you. You’d barely gotten a sentence out before he’d tugged at you, crushing you into his embrace.

Your nose was essentially being crushed against his right pectoral muscle. It hurt a bit, so you pat his back while squirming to liberate your nose. He loosened his hold for a moment and you quickly adjusted to be in a more comfortable position, before you were once again being crushed into him. 

You held him back of course.

But not before he could readjust his hold so that his head rested on your chest-more specifically his ear.

Oh.

You began tracing your fingers along his scalp as they weaved through his thick locks. Had his nightmare featured you this time? His grip on you only tightened, a shiver wracking through him before you heard a shuddering breath.

“Ace,” you hummed in an attempt to soothe him again, “Ace, I’m okay,” you tried to keep your tone soft, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, but continued clutching you, body trembling under trapped his emotions within it. You on the other hand continued to run your fingers through his hair, with him gradually getting heavier and heavier in your hold. His grip loosened slightly as his consciousness slipped - if you waited a bit you’d be able to slip out and back into your own bed.

Looking at him, you could see the remnants of his tears sparkle on his lashes. You wished he’d just let himself cry more openly, rather than fight to bottle it up. 

A quiet sigh left you as you looked at the man in your hold, people really were as beautiful as their souls. You continued to play with his hair, basking in the relative silence. 

You ought to tell him that to his face really. Your lips softly pulled upwards as you gently brushed his bangs from his face. 

You wouldn’t have dared to even consider doing that when you first met him: back when he’d convinced you his bravado was confidence. You knew better now though.

He’d probably still tease you if you did. His teasing made him just about intolerable to you initially. 

Yeah…your road to friendship hadn’t been the smoothest. You grinned at the memory, tenderly poking at the little furrow in his brow - coaxing him to relax. He’d very much made you regret your efforts to be kind(er) to him initially with his insufferable teasing. You were reconsidering altogether when he showed up and made amends after realizing he’d gone too far. The teasing remarks soon became playful jabs…which soon became thoughtful discussion when no one else was around.

You smiled at your dear-incredibly dear-friend, and readjusted yourself slightly thinking maybe you could go back to your own bed now. Of course no sooner had you started to consider that, than his grip on you tightened. You’d rather wait a little bit longer to make sure he was definitely asleep enough.

-_-

It was warm.

Too warm.

You found yourself regaining consciousness with a strain of agitation at the temperature your body had achieved while you were resting. You tried to kick off the covers in hopes of revealing your feet and cooling down, however you found that they were much heavier than they ought to be. It wasn’t until you heard a very familiar groan echo throughout the bones of your body that your eyes flew open.

Well…you’d figured out why it was warm.

Soon enough your friend’s eyes also opened, an absolutely criminal pout on his lips. You’d curse Ace’s luck with his genes if they weren’t why he suffered so much all his life. Though you didn’t get to admire him for long as he blinked himself back to the conscious realm, slowly realizing the position he was in, the position you were both in. At which point, a similar kind of alarm found its way onto his expression as he looked up at you.

“Good morning?” You tried.

That was all it took for him to hurriedly grant you freedom from his clutches…and some relief from the heat. Once you were both seated a respectable distance apart, though still on the bed, he shot you a sheepish look, “guess we didn’t need that second bed after all.”

You found yourself snickering at his comment, him joining in soon after, and with that any and all tension was cast away. You went back to your bed, slipped under the cool sheets and slept for a little longer too. So there was a use for the bed after all.

-_-

The rest of the day went well after the initial surprise and awkwardness. You went back to the wood whittling shop and Ace…well he went about doing his own thing. He came back to find you around night time, he’d already stocked the ship up, and set up camp as this time you’d be camping around the Mini Moby. The pose would reset as of dawn of the following day after all.

Bidding farewell to the quaint little family, you couldn’t help but think back to your own, way back on your home island. You did your best not to let your emotions choke you up. Though it was particularly difficult to hold them all in while you were hugging the lady who was old enough to be your aunt and then the grandmother. It was a pleasant surprise when the lovely family invited you to spend the night chatting until it would be time to leave.

“Hey! I can go catch us some wild animal,” your companion raised a brow at you with a smug little grin pulling at the corner of his lips, so you don’t have to worry about how much we eat, was the part he left unsaid.

“Would that be okay with everyone?” You turned to the homey family, who had absolutely no qualms with the suggestion.

The evening zoomed by: you had a fun dinner, exchanged stories over tea and biscuits, and even played some fun family games. It was after the elderly had retired, and your companion had, true to his nature, fallen asleep mid-bite again, that the more sensitive questions were brought up. In true auntie nature, the auntie-aged lady asked about your “husband,” especially given your lack of wedding bands.

You smiled at the auntie while heating up. She wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Prior to letting you escape with the then-captain of the Spade Pirates, your parents had you and Ace sign a marriage contract.

You appreciated him deeply for going along with it. That your parents would let you marry a wanted man though, even if it was supposedly just on paper, even if it was just for the sake of preserving your honor and dignity, showed just how dire and desperate a situation it had been. That he’d gone along with it though…and was remaining true to the agreements made with your family too…

For a pirate, he was an honorable and trustworthy man.

Then again…even the fearsome Whitebeard had more honor than the allegedly just marines.

So anyway, you didn’t correct the auntie, instead nodding and saying how you two were currently sailing together. She seemed relieved that you didn’t correct her on your relationship status, but she didn’t need to know that it was just a marriage on paper.

-_-

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” was the greeting you’d gotten when you’d exited the singular cabin on the Mini Moby.

Squinting at the light, you rubbed your eyes and grumbled, “there’s no way it’s still morning.”

“You’re right,” you blinked blearily at your companion as he agreed with you, “it's afternoon.”

Which earned a tired groan from you. Which in turn drew an amused laugh from Ace as he continued adjusting the sails.

“You had fun talking with them didn’t you?”

You hummed in agreement as you shrunk back into the cabin. 

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Water, I need water,” you croaked, opening the door and re-entering the darker environment. 

It felt nice not needing to squint anymore.

When you made your way back out you were assaulted with another question, “how did they figure out we were ‘married’?” He asked you. 

“I mean if you look at them, they seem marriage oriented and traditional,” you shrugged, “it could be a case of them just getting lucky we were in line with their hopes.”

“No wonder you got along with them so well,” he approached you from the helm, “I had a feeling they reminded you of your family.”

“They did,” you nodded, taking a seat on one of the benches on the small deck.

“I remember your folks giving me a hard time when we just needed to get you off the island before the navy got to you,” he recounted.

“I’m relieved they didn’t arrest any of my family members,” you exhaled deeply.

“You got lucky that it was Smoker that responded to the call,” Ace grinned.

“My mother said the same,” you agreed, “in her letter she said that what Smoker lacked in fashion sense he made up for in reasonability and honor.”

“She’d absolutely hate my sense of fashion then,” he laughed.

“She does,” you deadpanned, earning an even more boisterous laugh from him, “but I think she’d appreciate knowing you kept your promise.”

He raised a brow at you, “you mean the one about not laying a hand on you?” He made a show of taking a moment to think, then, “hmm but I forced you to share a bed with me just the other night.”

“Ace!”

He burst into even more boisterous laughter, “I broke that promise almost immediately while we were on the Spadine!” He was clearly relishing in teasing you, “I was always laying hands on you.”

“You know what they meant by that,” you groaned, “and you only ‘lay hands on me,’” you huffed, “to save me from going overboard and keep me out of trouble! That’s the whole reason we insisted on the contract prior to letting me board the Spadine,” you stoof gesturing to him and then the boat you were currently on, “they knew that you’d need to grab me for my own safety.”

As if to prove your point the ship lurched and you almost went overboard. Luckily Ace had the muscle to pull you onto the deck-or well onto him really, as you came crashing into his chest…which was…still clothed! Seems he’d forgotten to take his shirt off - which was currently to your benefit, so you weren’t complaining.

Looking up at him as he held you to him, you gave him a dry look, “see what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he grinned at you, readjusting his hold on you as another wave rocked the ship, “but, I’ve been pretty handsy this last year,” he cocked an eyebrow up, “wouldn’t you say?”

You found yourself heating up. What was he trying to achieve teasing you like this? You instead sent him your most unimpressed stare and he laughed some more. 

“Everyone needs a hug sometimes,” you grumbled, “I wouldn’t call that being handsy.”

You could feel his chuckles from where he held you, you could hear them loud and clear through his chest. You needed to get some space between you. Though you couldn’t even begin to move away before the waves threw you onto him again.

The sooner the two of you regrouped with Marco, the better. You needed to get yourself under control. Having Marco around would help. Probably. You tried not to touch him any more than necessary as you gingerly removed yourself from his grasp and moved away a bit looking for a way to make yourself helpful.

“I think the island after this is Saobody,” Ace grinned tugging on the ropes for the sail as he deftly maneuvered your small vessel, “after that we can get to the New World.”

“Well we’d have to go to Ryuguu first,” you corrected, “I wonder how Madame Sharly is doing.”

“Madame Sharly?” He glanced away from the waters to raise a brow at you. “I thought you didn’t agree with her fortune telling.”

“I don’t,” you approached him to help where you could, “but there’s no denying she’s gorgeous,” you took a rope, “and soothing to listen to.”

“So I’m competing with a mermaid?” He shook his head.

“Competing how?” Was he trying to be the most soothing presence in your life or something?

Ace looked startled by your question, furthering your confusion. He blinked at you silently once before sheepishly scratching the back of his head, “it’s…nothing.”

“But how would you be competing with a mermai-” you found yourself nearly thrown off again by the ship lurching yet again. Your work on the ropes came undone as you held onto them for dear life. It wasn’t a moment and a large, warm hand helped pull you back up and helped you regain your footing.

You couldn’t help but notice the ink on your friend’s wrist as he gently pried the ropes out of your hands and secured them himself. You stood there for a moment watching as he deftly tied them up before shaking yourself out of your reverie and making your way to the helm instead. 

-_-

You actually ended up at Saobody Archipelago. Which was convenient. Now it was just a process of trying to get your little ship coated. Oh and to avoid marines and all that. 

Unfortunately the “friendly neighborhood ship coater Ray-san” wasn’t available. Only that made sense. He was with Luffy, training him. His partner was manning the joint though. You weren’t sure of their relationship status but, “if I were Mr. Rayleigh I’d make sure to at least attempt to propose to you.”

That earned you a chuckle from the lovely lady, “mmm some men can be cowardly in the romantic arena,” she was grinning.

Which was when you heard choking to your left - it was Ace, thankfully he’d started coughing. You immediately began patting his back, and then turned back to the lady, “So um Ms. Shakky, would you happen to know how to coat a ship?”

“Nope,”  Shakky took a puff of her cigarette, “I run the bar. Rayleigh runs the coating service.”

And he’s the most trustworthy man to coat the ship on the archipelago. Well…

“Can you suggest any other coating services?” You tried.

She hummed as she took a drag off her cigarette, before elegantly tapping out some ashes into an ashtray. Breathing out she grinned at you, “I don’t think you have to bother with looking for anyone else.”

Well that had the potential to be ominous.

“Are you saying he’ll be back soon?” It was Ace who was asking the question through his coughs.

“Oh did he say he’s on his way back?”

“No, just my intuition,” her expression looked fairly amused before it settled into something more cheshire. 

She was humming as she studied you, “I have to say you do have a way of making a woman feel appreciated dear,” she threw a wink your way.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” you sheepishly returned her smile, “my friends and I used to ‘flirt’ with each other all the time to express our love for one another and y’know?” you shrugged. “Boost each other’s confidence, all that.”

Shakky rested her cheek on her palm as she chuckled at you, “it didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, it’s very cute,” she looked over to your side, “wouldn’t you say so Porto-chan?”

He sputtered, almost choking on his drink again, “way to put a guy on the spot huh Shakky?”

She giggled at him,before turning back to you, “I’m sure this was only between you and your girl friends, given Porto-chan’s reaction here.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to give any guys the wrong idea,” you shrugged.

“True,” Shakky tapped out some more ashes, once again glancing to your side. 

-_-

True to what Shakky had said, Rayleigh came back not three days later. When you mentioned that she had really strong intuition he’d let out an amused whistle and, “women’s intuition can be scary,” before regaling you all with the tale of how Shakky’d been on the mark with something else.

The Pirate Empress, The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, Boa Hancock herself, had fallen in love, and fallen pretty hard. You heard the beautiful woman whose presence you were currently in giggle with, “see, I told you Monkey-chan was pretty good looking.” 

“Scary,” Rayleigh grinned as he breathed the word, “you women and your intuition are scary.”

“Eh?!” Ace was the one to vocally react. “She’s in love with Luffy?!”

Somehow his surprise was what had you laughing. “He’s a real charmer that Luffy, isn’t he?” You beamed at his older brother who looked like a mix of surprised, proud, and disbelieving all at once…maybe even a tinge jealous? “He takes after his brother.”

His owlish stare turned to you, and you saw a little lick of fire escape off his shoulders. All the while you simply shot him a lopsided grin given one cheek was smushed into your first. 

You’d briefly met Luffy while with Ace in Arabasta. He reminded you of Ace in some ways: bright, bombastic, straightforward…reckless…and…very loving. There was one thing about Luffy though: you could say he was more honest about his feelings and less prone to prejudice - oh! Though you’d also say that while Luffy was dependable, Ace felt more responsible, which made sense given he was the older one of the two. You wondered what sort of kindness Luffy extended to the Pirate Empress that she fell for him.

“Whatcha thinking about there?” You blinked yourself out of your trance as you felt a warm finger poke at your forehead.

You looked up into your dear (oh so dear) companion’s eyes and felt yourself melt at the warmth they held, “I’m wondering which of Luffy’s traits caused the Pirate Empress to fall.”

He huffed, and you found yourself following the corner of his lip as it curled upwards, “he’s always had a way with people, that kid brother of mine.”

His gaze was distant, as though he was looking at something very far in the past. Or perhaps not that far away really, these descriptors could be relative.

“So how is Luffy?” You turned to Rayleigh. “Is he doing well?”

The old man’s expression could be described in a singular word: proud. “He’s got another six months of training by himself, but I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he turned his gaze to another person in the room, “he’s real excited to see his crew, and his brother again.”

The beaming smile on Ace’s face said more than words ever could.

-_-

The evening before you would depart for Fishman Island, you’d gone to take a stroll alongside your dear friend. The tree canopies got in the way of you being able to see the stars, but the bubbles twinkled in their stead. 

You turned to study your beloved’s form yet again. Your hands squeezed the straps of your pack, soon enough the world would know about him - that he’d survived. They’d be back to hunting him down, only with twice as much zeal. Marines and enemies of his late father alike.

“What?” He glanced at you, raising his eyebrow. “Do I still have salsa on my face or something?”

You shook your head quickly looking away, “I was just thinking about how, soon enough, you’ll be back to being hunted.”

“Are you worried?” You could hear his amusement, and he even had the gall to laugh when you scowled up at him. “Dumb question, of course you are.”

“Very dumb question,” you grumbled and he laughed some more.

“Hey! I’m pretty strong!”

“I still don’t want to see you get hurt,” you let out a long, tired breath, “when you’re back to officially being a wanted man.”

“Wanted huh?” He was again looking out into the distance, mumbling. “Wanted by everyone but the person I want.”

The person he wanted? 

“Who would that be?” You found yourself asking despite yourself. 

Despite the way your heart hammered at you begging you to remain silent. Despite the way your extremities lost heat. Despite the clammy feeling in your palms as they all but squeezed the straps they held. Despite the ringing in your ears. Despite the way your stomach sloshed as though you’d swallowed a sea storm.

It was such a dangerous question to ask. He’d just said with certainty that the person he wants doesn’t want him - that rules you out. For some reason your thoughts jumped to the Pirate Empress. He mentioned getting to see her while he was stuck in Impel Down.

You watched, your head feeling as though it was full of cotton, as his Adam's apple bobbed with a thick swallow. “Can I…” he wasn’t looking at you as he asked, “can I hold your hands?”

Did he know? Was he trying to hold your hands to let you down slowly? Ace was always a little clumsy with these kinds of things…or was he? He was kind regardless. You had to repay this kindness, so you plastered on whatever smile you could.

If Ace had found someone to love, even if it wasn’t you, you’d be happy for him.You could be heartbroken later, but happy for him now.

You nodded, feeling the pain in your joints as you unclenched them. Your hands were slightly trembling and cold as he held them in his own larger, warmer ones - oh this was a horrible idea! Your hands were starting to get sweaty! Instinctively you started pulling away, “wait my hands - sweat - they’re sweaty!”

“I don’t care,” he tightened his hold on your hands, and as he spoke you noticed, “so are mine.”

He looked at you, and he seemed absolutely convinced of something. You kept up your little smile. 

“I,” he swallowed again, bringing your hands closer to his chest, “I don’t think I can keep my promise to your parents,” a little flame escaped his shoulder as he said that, “I-” he pulled your hands even closer to him, “I want to be real.” 

What?

“I mean I want our relationship-er-marriage to be real!” He rushed to correct himself. “I want to be with you! But in a real relationship! Not just on paper! I want you - ah!” More flames escaped his shoulders as he got louder. “No! Not like that! I mean yes like that- but not just like that! I mean I want - can I?”

He threw his head back, a loud groan of frustration leaving him, meanwhile you just stared at him, brain abuzz as it tried to process what he was saying. He looked at you again, determined expression back full force, “can I be your husband? Your real husband? Can I be,” he glanced away before mumbling, “yours?”

Your mouth had opened slightly to let some air in. The world was almost spinning - save for Ace. The warmth that was flooding your body was practically dizzying. Something stuck out to you - well two things as your legs gave out and Ace lunged to soften your landing and crouch in front of you, in that silly way he always did, still holding your hands. 

“You can’t keep your promise to my parents?” You blinked at him.

“That’s what you heard?” He groaned.

“No I heard it all Ace,” your breaths were heavy, “my brain’s struggling to keep up,” you gulped, “give me a minute to catch up.”

“No, I don’t think I can,” he shook his head, cheeks fully flush as he looked away from you, “I want our relationship to be real… and my promise-it wasn’t a problem back then-but now..” 

He trailed off, struggling to make eye contact with you as he admitted, “now, it’s a major problem,” he shook his head at you seriously, “I can’t keep it. I want to have a real relationship - I’d regret not trying to have a real relationship with you.” 

He did not shy away as he concluded his confession, “the promise gets in the way.”

You blinked at him, finding the air suddenly too warm.

“Can,” you gulped, head still full of static and the sound of the heavy thumping of your heart, “can you ask me to be yours?”

He blinked at you confused by the response, so you pressed on, “instead of - instead of,” your bottom lip was trembling and you could feel heat radiate from your cheeks, “asking to be mine,” was this a dream?

Your heart did some kinda fancy somersault at the way Ace straightened at your last word, much like he would whenever he was excited about something.

“Are you asking me to call you mine, like that?” He leaned into your space.

You couldn’t help the way your whole body was zapped to attention at the giddiness that consumed it when the word: “mine,” left Ace’s lips.

He looked at you with an equal amount of giddiness upon comprehending what your question implied, and his bravado seemed to find him again - but more than that, it was hope that pulled his lips into a massive, luminous grin as he asked, “then, will you be mine?”

When your lips wobbled into a smile, he decided to continue on, “y’know be my wife? My real wife?”

Your head was moving up and down in agreement before you were fully aware of it, “yes.”

You barely registered the pure unadulterated joy, and maybe even the glimmer of liquid in your…husband’s eyes before he was pulling you into a tight hug, gurgled chuckles leaving him. You weren’t any better, you were practically clinging to him as you began to sob, the salty blobs washing away the maelstrom of emotions with liquid relief. You might have felt some wetness on your own shirt.

You probably had, with how he sounded wobbly when asking, “did I make you cry, darlin’?”

Which of course made your tears worse, as you gulped and tried to force yourself to be calm, “I’m just happy it was me.”

He chuckled, “who else could it be?”

Who else - well…wait.

“But, are you sure?” You let go to look at him, his brow furrowed and lips pursed in confusion. “Are you sure this isn’t just because of the past year and a half where all we had was each other?”

His frown deepened for a moment before it relaxed into something sheepish, “I think I started feeling this way since,” he paused to think about it, “maybe even before Pops took me in.” 

“You mean when you were still captain of the Spades?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he chuckled some of his nerves out, “you’re a real catch y’know?” He raised a brow at you. “I even had to play the husband card a few times back then.”

“Really?” You paused to think about it. “I remember us arguing most of the time back then.”

“Yeah, I remember I used to complain to Deuce about that,” he let out a hearty laugh, “but remember that time when everyone was celebrating-”

“And I found you sitting by yourself in the crow’s nest when I went up to hide from everyone?”

“Yeah,” it was there - the wistful quality to Ace, “that was probably when this all started.”

“Wasn’t I just talking about why I had a bounty on my head back then?” You tried to remember.

“Yeah,” he sighed out, “you were really passionate about it too,” there was a dopey quality to his smile, “and I couldn’t help it - you reminded me of my brother and I thought you were really smart.”

“Sabo?” You asked tentatively.

He nodded, “in the beginning it was because of that - I just wanted to be by you and hear everything you had to say, it made me feel like my brother was alive again.”

“That explains the way you kept nagging me back then.”

“Nagging?”

“That’s how it felt to me back then.”

He shrugged, “when we were on the Moby Dick though - I stopped thinking of Sabo, I just wanted to know what you had to say.”

“Really?” He chuckled as you lit up. You wondered if he realized how deeply his confession touched you.

“Really!” He grinned at you, and you felt a warmth wrap around you like a warm blanket.

He looked so boyish as he shrugged, “ anyway, Marco tried to push me to confess to you after I woke up,” he grabbed your hand, tracing your knuckles with his thumb, “he told me all about how much I made you worry,” he turned your hand over in his, “but I was too scared to believe it meant anything.”

“Marco knew about it?” You asked when he was done.

“Everyone knew!” He chuckled. “Heck even Pops knew,” he grinned now looking at the tattoo that sat on his pulse, “of course they knew, I pulled out the husband card on some swabbies.”

He burst out laughing, “you should’ve seen their faces!” He calmed down. “It wasn’t so funny when the commanders heard me though-” he grimaced, but smiled soon enough. 

“I’m glad they did though,” he went back to rubbing warm circles into your skin, “forced me to reckon with myself,” he looked into your eyes, “put a name to what I was feeling.”

“Put a name to what you were feeling?” You breathed out - head as light as ever. “What did you come up with?”

You watched his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he took, as though steeling himself again. There was a ferocity in his gaze as it locked onto yours, “I was jealous,” he brought the hand he held to his lips letting them carve his answer into your skin, “whenever I saw someone else trying to win you over,” his hand squeezed yours as yet another wave of heat crashed over you, “I felt jealous and gross because it wasn’t like you were really my wife.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” what was he- “but your parents told me to protect you. And I would -will, and not because they asked me to. I just want to.”

“Ace,” you felt the warmth foment into wrath instead, “you’re confusing me,” you frowned, yanking your hand back, “what do you want from me?”

You saw it then, a flicker of the shadows of the monsters beneath the waters.

You loved Ace. You knew this. You knew that it made you lenient towards him at times. But right now…no. You needed clarity.You weren’t about to enter this new stage on shaky foundations. Because you loved him you couldn’t afford to be lenient about this.

“You ask to be mine,” you couldn’t help the way the fear seeped into your words, “then tell me you aren’t good enough for me,” you looked away with a frown, “I know you don’t have the best idea about yourself, but…just…” you were struggling to put words to it, “what are you trying to achieve?”

When you looked at him again, his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar. He probably didn’t expect things to go like this. Especially given you could have said they’d been going well initially, until you ruined things with your overthinking…but still…you didn’t want some kind of accidental or pity romance. You didn’t want Ace to feel indebted to you, or make decisions while confused or vulnerable.

Though as you looked at him, all the shock left his body, his singular brow arching in that unique way it did with him, while his lips curved up. “Hey, can I hold your hand again?”

“O-kay?” Where was he going with this?

He took your hand again, carefully spread out your fingers, and then pressed it to chest, right above his heart, like he had back when you’d started hyperventilating. He held it there and you could feel the rabid, slightly erratic pattern it was taking, “y’feel that?”

You nodded.

“You’re right,” he was sheepish, “telling you I’m jealous, and that I want you to be mine, and that I can’t keep a promise to keep my hands off of you makes it sound like I’m really horny, huh?”

He was laughing as you sputtered in embarrassment, and held your palm firm to his chest, “to be honest with ya, I really like having your hand on my chest here - kinda wish I wasn’t wearing a shirt really.”

“Ace!” You barely garbled out.

“I think you’re amazing,” he continued, holding firm - and you could feel his heart pounding under your palm, “and like you said, I hate the cursed blood I carry.”

“It’s not-”

“But you know how I said I want to live a life without regrets?” You stopped struggling. “I’m not good enough, never will be, not for you,” his hand squeezed yours, pushing it further against his chest, “but, I’d regret not trying to be good enough, I’d regret not shooting my shot.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” You frowned. “What if I’m not good enough for you?”

“What’s that thing you like to say?” He hummed. “It’s my opinion?”

“I hate your opinion.”

He guffawed. “I’m a coward,” he confessed as he calmed down, “and a selfish bastard,” his smile rivaled the sun, “but I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, even if I’m not worthy.”

“You are,” you glared at him.

His expression went back to that charmingly confused one. “I’ve deemed you worthy,” you huffed - genuinely upset with how he was speaking about himself, “regardless of all this worthy-worthy talk, you’re the one I want to spend my life with too.”

You genuinely could not find it in you to care how cute his grin was right now, “and that’s the worst proposal I could receive!” You were fuming. “I hate it when you insult yourself like that!”

“I’m below you, but please accept me,” you scowled, “well no can do!”

His face fell at your rant. “I want an equal Ace,” you gestured with your free hand, “I want a partner, not an indentured servant! I don’t want to be put on a pedestal! If my husband isn’t willing to be on equal footing with me then-”

“Hey that wasn’t what I meant!” The object of your fury (and affections?) argued. “I’m just saying you’re out of my league!”

“That’s one thing to say,” you were rather animatedly ranting now, “and we’ll have to agree to disagree on that-because hot stuff you’re within a league of your own,” you continued what was likely years worth of frustration with his self-deprecation leaving you, “and for argument’s sake, let’s say you weren’t - that sounds like an excuse not to work hard to become worthy once I accept you!” 

“I didn’t mean that at all!” He cut into your rant. “‘Sides I already said I’m gonna bust my ass trying to be good enough for you!”

“Well that’s all any girl would ask for! You absolute dumbass!” You yelled back at him. “No one wants to hear their loved ones talk smack about themselves the way you do!”

“Just imagine we had kids one day and they hear their father talking about himself in such an awful way!” Seriously, where did this idiot come from? Talking about himself in such a terrible way. “What kind of lessons would you be teaching them? What kind of example are you setting? They’d learn to-”

“Kids?” He blinked owlishly at you - oh.

Ohhh…

Ohhhh nnnoooooo.

If he wasn’t holding your hand to his chest, you’d have put more distance between you two, but for now you’d have to settle for covering your face with one hand while looking away. It was silent for a long minute…was it a minute? You weren’t sure, but you felt Ace’s chest vibrate with a series of chuckles and braced yourself.

“You’re a real difficult woman to please, y’know?” You met his amused stare with your own unamused one.

“I don’t want to start our relationship on anything but a solid foundation,” you muttered, “if you don’t feel worthy, then put in the effort to feel worthy.”

His grin only widened, “y’know I’d take that to mean you want me the same way I want you.”

“I think that fact is pretty well established by this point,” you grumbled.

“If I understood everything,” oh he looked so smug right now, “then if I wanna tell you I love you, I can’t say anything about how you’re out of my league?”

“You think I’m out of your league.”

“Oh that’s right, because I’m hot stuff.”

He laughed some more when you rolled your eyes. His laughs died immediately when you said, “you are hot stuff.”

“Because…I’m made of fire?” He gulped.

“No.”

“I forgot how assertive you could get,” he blushed, stunned, “it’s been a while since I pissed you off huh?”

Your embarrassment was beginning to catch up to you, as you adjusted yourself to be able to rest your cheek on your palm. You were avoiding looking at him, even if he was essentially burning a hole into you with how he was unabashedly looking at you.

“That bit about our future kids…I never wanted any, but I’m starting to like the idea,” he was being such a tease.

“Yeah? Well, I want kids!” You huffed, still not looking at him.

“Mmm, even if they’re mine?”

“Especially if they’re yours!” You huffed. “You and the idiots in the World Government are the only people with such a weird fixation on Gold Roger’s blood.”

“Darlin’ you’re being really bold right now,” he was grinning, “how mad at me are you?”

“I’m livid,” you finally turned to glare at him, “you’ve been saying absolutely awful things about my d-dear darling husband! It’s-it’s unforgivable!”

One corner of his lips curled upwards at the way you stuttered, but the little flickers of flames popping off his shoulders revealed he was just as embarrassed as you were. “Sounds like,” he swallowed thickly, “sounds like you really like this husband of yours.”

You swallowed as you looked him in the eyes, “I love him.”

His eyes widened, then he scowled, “hey! I wanted to say it first!”

“Well, be faster next time!” You stuck your tongue out at him - wait. “You did though.”

“Ah! So you did hear me!” He pointed a finger at you, finally releasing your hand, letting it drop from his chest.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you were being mean to yourself, so I had more important things to deal with.”

“More important than me telling you I love you?” He looked at you incredulously. “For the first time?”

“Well maybe if you didn’t put yourself down right after,” you poked his nose with your index finger, “I would have focused on the ‘I love you’ part more!”

His eye twitched for all but a moment, expression indignant, “you’re really hot when you’re assertive y’know?” 

You sputtered at that and looked away to maintain some semblance of composure. You didn’t see that coming. He called for you and you looked at him again, “you asked me if I was sure about this.”

You nodded at him, frustration finally cooling down.

“I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life,” he declared, “I want you by my side, I want to be by yours, I want to spend the rest of our lives together until we’re nothing but skeletons in a grave.”

“I love you,” he stated it like it was as factual as the sea being blue, “even when you’re mad and yelling at me for confessing to you badly,” his grin settled for something more solemn as he asked, “what about you? Are you sure?”

“I am,” you nodded, “I want to build a life together. With you.”

“I love you,” he breathed it out like a prayer then, and you couldn’t help but describe his expression as reverent.

“I love you too,” you responded firmly as though it were an irrefutable fact, and you could feel your smile threaten to split your face in two.

“Satisfied?” He asked. “Is this ground solid enough for us?”

“I think so,” you nodded, “I want nothing but success for our relationship.”

“Me too,” he grinned as he ruffled through his pockets, from which he pulled out two velvet boxes. “I got these with-what did you call it again?” He grinned. “Honest money?”

You simply stared at the boxes in shock, then back up at your husband, then back down at the boxes. “What?” There was an amused lilt to his speech. “Y’didn’t think I would confess to you unprepared now did ya?”

You guessed you did, with the surprise you were feeling, as you tentatively reached for one of the boxes and opened it up. To your greatest fortune the silver band was clearly meant for a groom. Your eyes widened when you looked over and saw the ring he’d picked out for you, raising a brow at him you couldn’t help but wonder, “how did you get the funds for this?”

“I did some work around that island we were on,” he beamed, “and sold some of the gifts they gave us when we beat those sea kings.”

“It’s so pretty,” you admired what was going to be your ring, it reminded you a little of fire, the ruby red gem was cut in a teardrop shape however the surrounding gems were arranged in such a way that it looked like a flame, you giggled your shoulders relaxing, “it reminds me of you.”

“That right?” He smiled, removed the ring and packed the box up in his pocket, as he took your left hand in his, “I kinda wanted it to,” he admitted as he slid the ring on your finger.

While you were admiring your finger, Ace tried to grab the other box from you, however you pulled it out of his grasp, “ah ah ahh,” you tutted, “I’ll be the one to do the honors!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I really like it when you’re assertive.”

He laughed at you as you pointedly avoided his waggling brows until you had the ring ready. He already had his hand out for you to slide the ring into, seemingly more than happy to wear that symbol that seemed so silly to him…until now, you supposed as you slid the band onto his finger. 

“Should we say vows?” You asked. “Wait, didn’t they say the vows before the rings?”

Ace hooked his pinky with yours, “I promise - er - vow, to…” he gulped and you could feel him heat up, “love…you…uh until I die - for as long as I live?” He slacked. “I’m not great at this poetic stuff.”

“Then don’t be poetic,” you smiled at him, “just say what you want to say.”

“Then,” he tightened his pinky, “I’m gonna work hard every day to be a man worthy of being by your side,” he looked you dead in the eyes, “it’s true that it’s due to pure luck I even got the chance to get to know you, but I won’t ever let this opportunity go. I’ll love you to the day I die, and even beyond that if I can.”

“You already said that,” you smiled at him, “maybe we didn’t need to do vows.”

“I’ll say it every day if you want me to.”

Somehow…somehow…now that you had a ring on your finger, and with your pinky linked to his, and with him reiterating how strongly he felt…somehow…

All you could do was blink at him. 

This was really happening. 

The last remnants of indignation flickered away into the breeze that toyed with the waves of your beloved’s hair.

Oh.

This was…you were…Ace was…you blinked up at him, “is this real life, or am I dreaming right now?”

His determined expression was wiped off with one that was very unamused, “I’m out here pouring my heart to you - wait you dream about me?”

“Maybe once or twice?” You continued to gape at him. Noticing his own surprised expression, you shook yourself out of your trance, and pulled at your joined pinkies. “Oh-yeah, my-my turn.”

His gaze carried that same softness you’d seen for a while now as he waited to hear your vows, “I know it won’t always be easy, the same way painting a masterpiece isn’t easy, but,” you paused your joy teasing your lips, “I am determined to spend the rest of my life here with you,” you looked him straight in the eyes, “you’re worth every bit of love I have to give, and I’ll prove it through my efforts and commitment, I’ll work hard so you’ll never regret choosing me.”

“Never,” he affirmed.

“Using a negative term…feels rather…negative, don’t you think?” You thought aloud.

“Then,” he shook your pinky-linked hands, “I’m going to work hard every day to make sure you’re always happy you married me.”

“And I’m going to make sure you’re always happy you chose me.”

“Always,” he affirmed again, the two of you laughing at the repetition of the pattern.

“Pops was right,” he let go of your pinky.

“About?”

“He kept telling everyone to calm down and stop meddling because our relationship would happen in its own time,” he sheepishly scratched at the back of his neck, “though he did tell me not to wait forever after a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“A few months?”

“Oh pops,” you chuckled as you reached for his tattooed wrist tracing the mark of your late captain, “Marco found out about my feelings for you from Thatch.”

“From Thatch?” He looked surprised. “Marco knew?”

There was betrayal written all over his expression.

“That’s probably why he was pushing you to confess after the war,” you continued to trace his tattoo even as he shuddered, “Marco tried to get me to confess too.”

“He did?”

“It felt wrong,” you shook your head, looking up at him, “you’d nearly died, pops had died, I was a mess mentally, I figured you’d be a mess mentally,” you continued to shake your head as your breathing shallowed, “I told him as much, and he stopped trying to convince me.”

“How’d Thatch find out?”

“Teased me about hosting a wedding banquet given we didn’t have one because y’know?” Your smile was gentle as you remembered the late Fourth Division Commander, your finger resuming its path along the inked mustache. “I told him not to joke about that - and he figured it out immediately.”

“Then he went and told Marco?” Ace guessed. “Wait, I remember there being a day when you were chasing after Thatch on the deck, looking really desperate about something.”

“Yepp,” you nodded, taking in a deep inhale you traced the crossbones on your husband’s skin again, “got him to promise not to tell anyone else after I found out he’d told Marco.”

“Y’know, at that point I was already a goner for you,” he confessed, “and the crew already knew about me.”

A silence passed over the two of you, as you continued to play with the mark on his skin.

“To think…you liked me too?” He scratched the back of his head with the hand not currently in your clutches. “I mean back then!”

“Is it really that surprising?” You pressed down on his pulse a little.

“It’s just,” you looked up at him, “darlin’,” there was that sweet, sweet adage again, “you ended up on my ship due to pure dumb luck,” his hand moved to grab your own that was still tracing his tattoo, “you’re practically a princess in comparison to a pirate like me.”

You scoffed at that, “please, I am far from being a princess.”

“To me you are,” this might be the softest you’ve ever seen your friend, “and this isn’t me talking down about myself,” he poked you in the forehead, “you’re smart, you’ve got a family that wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me dead if I ever tried anything funny-”

You laughed at that bit, “my cousin especially.”

“She was more than ready to have my head and I hadn’t even done anything yet,” he laughed alongside you, “‘the only reason I’m letting you take her is because I have to! Who knows what they’ll do to her in the marine prisons.’ was what she said before threatening to hunt me down.”

You both laughed at that, “if she sees you keep me safe and make me happy she’ll love you, you know?”

“Love me like that?” He raised a brow at you.

“Maybe!” You shrugged.

“You see?” He gently poked your cheek with his knuckle, “you’re royalty. Way out of my league.”

“Technically you’re royalty,” you flicked his forehead.

“How?” His confused expression was absolutely adorable.

“Pops was an Emperor!” You beamed. “You’re a pirate prince.”

The two of you shared a laugh, the ridiculousness of the notion amusing both of you until, “oh that’s right!”

“What is?” Ace startled as you suddenly straightened up, shoving your hand into your own pocket, and pulling out a small wooden plaque attached to an adjustable black cable.

Upon further inspection it became apparent that it was a bracelet - one you’d whittled back at the little family’s shop. On the main plaque there was Whitebeard’s jolly roger, and it was surrounded by two wooden “beads” - could you call them that? One was a flame shape and the other a spade, you’d had to make sure they were thick enough that you could put a hole through either one.

“This is for you!” You beamed at him as you offered it to him.

“Did you make this?” He stared between you and the bracelet.

“Yeah!” You grinned. “I tried making your happy and sad faces, but it didn’t work out, so I made a spade and little flame instead!”

“You sure know how to make a man feel loved,” he gently traced at the jolly roger etched in the wood.

“I hope you always feel loved in my presence,” you beamed.

“I do,” he grinned at you, “so much it’s almost scary,” he held out the bracelet to you, “will you do the honors?”

“With pleasure,” you took the trinket out of his hands and slid it onto his bare, right wrist.

He barked out a laugh, when you went straight back to playing with the tattoo on his pulse. “What’s so funny?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “I’m just thinking about how we could have been real years ago.”

“In that case weren’t we technically a real couple at that point? If everybody knew?” You rubbed your thumb along his tattooed pulse point. “Except for us, that is.”

“Mmm but I wanted to do, coupley things with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, relishing in how that seemed to make you shy.

Though, it seemed like you weren’t one to simply let him have the last say. You weren’t looking at him as you took his tattooed pulse and brought it to your lips. He jolted at the sensation, heart leaping. Little flames flickering out of his shoulders as you made eye contact with him afterwards, “how’s that for coupley things?”

He was quick to grab and tug you into him, relishing in your mild surprise, “don’t you know better than to play with fire?” He grinned at you as he readjusted the hand that had found its way to your waist. 

“I remember being told I have to ask a lady for permission to kiss her,” he nodded his chin at your lips, “may I?”

You were too embarrassed to say yes, instead choosing to cover your face with your hands. “Ace!” You whined. “Have mercy on me.”

“I didn’t realize you were this shy,” he was chuckling, “where’d your bold attitude go?”

He guffawed when you let out an embarrassed screech at the reminder, “I was absolutely shameless earlier, don’t remind me!”

“I didn’t think so,” oh you could hear the smug grin on his face, “you felt more fierce to me,” he sounded closer, “it’s a real turn on, y’know?”

“Ace!” You garbled out.

He chose to press a little kiss to your forehead instead, “I’m not gonna push you, just teasing you a little is all.”

True to his word, he readjusted his hold, and repositioned the two of you so that he could hug you from behind. He was kinda like a koala bear in that regard.

“Hey Ace?” He gave a small hum in response. “Can I see your tattoo again?”

“You sure like playing with it huh?” He asked as he handed his hand over to you and you turned slightly in his hold.

You could feel his eyes on you as you pressed your thumbs into it, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. Once again, you brought his wrist to gently brush your lips against it, and felt him jolt. Finally you brought his pulse to your forehead, “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

When you turned to face him again, his cheeks were bright, dusted in those freckles you adored, as he smiled, not a shadow in sight, “me too.”

As always I am OPEN TO CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, and would like to know if anyone seemed out of character. Please and thank you! Reblogs and comments appreciated!

Want more Ace stuff? Check out my MasterList

[copiiialover]

ৎ୭ — Uncertain Future – ৎ୭

Title: Uncertain Future

Pairing: Park Gyeong Seok / Cho Hyun Ju Synopsis: With Young-mi's death haunting her and an uncertain future ahead, Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok allow themselves to comfort each other. Tags/Possible Warnings: Canon Divergence, One-Shot, Trans Character, Slight Transphobia, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Holding Hands.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ✧ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

“Round and round. Round and round.

Let’s go around in circle and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

We will clap our hands and sing.

Let’s have fun dancing!”

The music echoes through the huge room and the carousel spins again and again as its center lights up before returning to the dim darkness.

“We will go hand in hand

and have fun jumping around.”

Hyun-ju opens the green door and looks at the clock inside. The countdown has almost reached zero, there is no time to waste.

“Young-mi, over here!” she shouts, waving her hand to get her attention, but there is no response from the girl. She just keeps standing there, spinning by the carousel, still and staring blankly. Why doesn't she run to her? Time is about to run out… “Young-mi!” she insists, opting this time to leave the tiny room to go look for her, but the carousel has stopped and a soldier is walking in her direction. The distance seems to shorten, or so she thinks, until a twinge of pain in her chest makes her stop.

“Young-mi!” she sobs in a whisper as she wakes up from that horrible dream, before the pink soldier snatched her life away. The darkness welcomes her and a lump tightens her throat. It was all a dream. “Young-mi…”

Hyun-ju waits for the owner of that name to answer, but there is no response from the empty bed of the shy girl.

Tears slide down her cheeks and she brings her hands to her face, realizing she is covered in a cold sweat. Behind her eyelids she visualizes Young-mi on the floor, begging with a muffled cry for help that never came.

A sob shakes Hyun-ju's body and guilt and helplessness flood her head again, at least until Geum-ja's voice catches her attention. Hyun-ju removes her hands from her face and guides her gaze to the old lady and the pregnant girl standing in front of Gi-hun.

Leaving the fort made to protect them from danger is almost a suicide mission in the hostile environment created by the players, but how can they be deprived of something as necessary as going to the restroom?

“Gi-hun” she calls the player, attracting the attention of the three of them to her. Their silence in her presence reminds her of her face covered in tears. She doesn't want anyone to see her like that. With that in mind she wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. “I can go with them..” she suggests and can almost swear she has felt the relief of both women, who look at Gi-hun for approval.

Gi-hun looks around, then at Hyun-ju. Without objection, the former winner nods. It's no secret to anyone that Gi-hun trusts her blindly after risking her life to save that unfortunate man in the first game.

Geum-ja leads the way to the bathroom, walking fearfully and looking back and forth beside Jun-hee, almost like a pair of deers in a vast forest full of hunters. Hyun-ju follows in their footsteps, aware of the division between the players and how it has turned the place into a battlefield where war could break out in an instant. However, she no longer seems to care.

Is it because of that steely character that led her to her position in the army? She chooses to attribute it to that even though, deep down, she knows that her lack of concern stems from the emptiness that Young-mi's death has left in her. She is no longer afraid of dying. She's known that ever since the carousel stopped for the last time, when instead of running to find another player to survive, she simply stood still. If it weren't for Gyeong-seok, she would already be dead.

“Please, let us go to the bathroom!” Geum-ja pleads, snapping her out of her thoughts and drawing her attention to the door in front of them. A pink soldier stares quietly at them through the window. “I'm an old woman, I can't control my bladder, please!” the old lady insists and Jun-hee seconds her request.

Hyun-ju thinks about pleading along with them, but that's not necessary when the pink soldier opens the door. Hyun-ju watches the two women enter the hallway, but when it's her turn her steps are interrupted by the pink soldier, obstructing her passage with his gun. Hyun-ju expects to hear some stupid rule about the number of people allowed to go to the bathroom, but there is no objection from the soldier.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Geum-ja calls out to the pink soldier, but he doesn't even flinch. “Let her in, she's with us!” The soldier remains still and Hyun-ju finally understands the situation. At what point has she forgotten that only a couple of people in that place see her as the woman she is? A tired sigh leaves her lips.

“It’s okay, don't worry” she asks the old lady, forcing herself to smile in an attempt to convince the woman that it doesn't affect her, although deep down she relives again the pain she felt when she was called a pervert the first time she tried to enter a women's restroom. At least the soldier is forced to remain silent. “Please go. I'll be here when you get back, okay?”

Geum-ja looks at her sadly, almost as if she really understands the pain that simple action can cause to someone like her. Hyun-ju just thinks about what it would be like to have a mother like her and be loved in the same way that woman loves her son.

When Geum-ja and Jun-hee disappear from her sight, Hyun-ju has no choice but to start her way to the men's room. She thinks about going back to bed since she doesn't really feel like going to the bathroom, but she knows she can't leave Geum-ja and Jun-hee alone. The possibility of being alone for at least a moment is the only incentive to go on her way.

As she opens the door and looks inside, she can't help but wish for the first time in her life that those horrible urinals were the only thing welcoming her instead of that pair of jerks.

“Hey, what are you looking at, huh? Do you miss yours?” Thanos asks her, grabbing his dick over his sweatpants. Nam-gyu laughs, shoving Min-su between them with his shoulder as an invitation to join in their glee. The poor boy is shaking from head to toe.

Hyun-ju is repulsed by them for making her remember her time in the army and the cruelty of some of her fellow soldiers to those they considered weaker or inferior. She knows that confronting them is not a problem, but she doesn't want to do it. They are not worth it and she is so tired. To her good fortune and relief, from one of the cubicles emerges Hwang In-ho, who needs only one look and a stony silence to force Thanos and his lapdog to abandon Min-su and leave, but not before passing by Hyun-ju and trying to intimidate her without any success.

Hyun-ju and In-ho look at each other for a moment, but there is no exchange of words between them, just a brief nod from Hyun-ju as some kind of silent pact between them. Not that she's really grateful to him, but any help in a place like that is welcome. A moment later, just as he appears, In-ho leaves without a word.

Silence fills the air and Hyun-ju feels a knot in her stomach as the music of that hellish game begins to echo in her head again. Will she ever forget it? Not having an answer makes the crying threaten to return, but she doesn't let it. In an attempt to distract her mind, she lets the water flow into the sink and cradles some in her hands to wash her face. She looks in the mirror and a frazzled reflection stares back at her; it is as if she has aged ten years in a single night. No, not one night; barely a couple of hours after....

“Unnie...”

Her lips tremble and the cry bursts out of her, forcing her to back up against the wall of one of the cubicles as her legs threaten to give way and make her fall. She slides against the wall to the floor and folds her legs against her chest, hugging herself in an attempt to gain some comfort. Her body shakes with each sob and once again she wishes she had been the one to die in that game, but even the greatest of wishes won't bring Young-mi back.

She hides her face against her knees and allows herself to cry, until a warm hand rests on her shoulder. All the alarms in her go off and she reflexively grabs the wrist of the one in front of her.

“G-Gyeong-seok?” she asks, staring at him. The man looks back at her in surprise, but makes no attempt to break free from her grip. “I'm sorry...” she mumbles, releasing him and feeling embarrassed by her reaction when Gyeong-seok rubs his wrist.

“I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry…” he apologizes. How could he blame her for a reaction like that in a place where you're just another number piling up to a big prize. “Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern.

Hyun-ju nods and is grateful that Gyeong-seok keeps enough distance to make her feel safe and comforted at the same time. Though his presence has never really felt like a possible threat.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, though the question seems silly being in a bathroom.

“I went to look for you in your bed, but you weren't there…” he reveals, sitting down next to her against the wall. “Gi-hun told me you were here.”

Hyun-ju just nods even though that doesn't quite answer her question.

“Why were you looking for me?” she asks, looking at the man's profile and that soft but noticeable smile as he tilts his head, as if he's suddenly embarrassed for some reason.

“I wanted to make sure you're okay, and…” he pauses, then looks at Hyun-ju. “...I guess I thought you'd like to have someone to talk to.”

For the first time since they returned to the dorm, Hyun-ju allows herself to smile softly.

“Thank you, but I'm afraid I don't really have much to say right now…” she admits even though she's lying, but what's the point of reliving that nightmare over and over again.

Gyeong-seok nods and remains silent, leaning back against the wall. Hyun-ju wishes she could stay there, enjoying the company of someone else who isn't looking to end her life, but maybe Geum-ja and Jun-hee are already waiting for her to return.

“Hyun-ju…” Gyeong-seok's voice breaks the peaceful silence, attracting her attention. “I know we hardly know each other but... can I ask you a favor?”

Hyun-ju looks at him in bewilderment. It's true that all they know about each other are their respective names, but he has saved her life twice. It's only fair to reciprocate in some way.

“Of course…”

“I have a little girl who is waiting for me out there,” Gyeong-seok murmurs, but pauses again, as if wondering whether he should continue or not. “She has leukemia and… She will die if I don't pay for her treatment...” His voice breaks as he says it and Hyun-ju feels his pain in every word.

At first she hesitates to do so. She doesn't know Gyeong-seok well enough, but at that moment there are no words that can offer any comfort. Therefore, with the present fear of the rejection she has received on so many occasions, Hyun-ju rests her hand on his and squeezes it gently.

To the former military woman's surprise, Gyeong-seok looks at her hand and holds it tightly. He looks into her eyes and Hyun-ju can see the gratitude in his gaze.

“I know I won't get out of here alive...” he murmurs and this time his eyes fill with tears. “But I know you will. I know you will…”

“Gyeong-seok...” she interrupts him, feeling her heart constrict. “I don't…”

“Please, just…” he takes her hand in his and pleads: “Just visit her and tell her... Tell her that I love her and that she's been the best thing that ever happened to me…”

Hyun-ju can't help but bring her hand to his face and brush away his tears.

“I'll do what I can... I... I'll do what I can…” she promises, caressing his cheek and allowing herself to enjoy the mutual comfort they give each other when he places his hand over hers on his cheek.

“She's going to be so happy when she sees you,” he murmurs, puzzling Hyun-ju. “She always asked me when I would marry a beautiful woman to walk together in the park like everyone else....”

Hyun-ju feels the heat rise in her cheeks even though she knows it's just a kind comment from him. After all, Geum-ja didn't lie when she said he's like a prince. However, that gesture of kindness takes on a new meaning when Hyun-ju feels a warm caress on the back of her hand.

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, until Gyeong-seok leans closer carefully, giving her a chance to pull away if that's what she wants. Hyun-ju remains in place, closing her eyes only when the distance between them is null and Gyeong-seok's lips meet hers.

It's a chaste kiss, almost a simple brush of lips, but it's enough to make her feel a shiver run through her body. They look at each other and this time there is no hesitation. Their lips meet once more in a slow kiss that escalates to a needy kiss in an instant, with both of them seeking that warm contact they both seem to desire so much.

Hyun-ju slips her fingers through Gyeong-seok's hair and he grabs her waist, pulling her closer to him and seeping his hand underneath her shirt. His warm, gentle touch on Hyun-ju's skin makes her moan softly against his lips and she wishes she had more; she wants to feel Gyeong-seok's hands all over her body, but the loud banging against the door forces them apart.

“Players one hundred and twenty and two hundred and forty-six, go back to the dormitory!” exclaims the pink soldier on the other side of the door.

Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok look at each other as they are dragged back to that reality of an uncertain future. Their hearts pound against each other's chests and they regret having met in that place.

Against their mutual desire, they both stand up and walk towards the door, but Hyun-ju grabs his hand to stop him. He looks at the union of their hands, then at her.

“Gyeong-seok, don't die out there, please...” she begs. He looks into her eyes and a fleeting sadness shadows his face. They both know that a promise is useless in a place like that.

“Then let's stay together and survive...” Gyeong-seok replies, allowing himself to kiss her one last time. “I want to draw your beautiful face when we get out of here, Hyun-ju.

She blushes and nods, and with that last promise they leave the bathroom. Geum-ja and Jun-hee greet them in the hallway and Hyun-ju can't help but smile when the older woman betrays her excitement by hugging them.

“Oh, you two look so cute together! Don't you think so, Jun-hee?” she exclaims, to which the girl only nods.

Hyun-ju blushes even more and, to her surprise, Gyeong-seok takes her hand to start the walk back to the dorm.

One more day of life is uncertain and they know it, but at that moment, with both of them lying on the same bed and holding hands, they allow themselves to believe in the possibility of surviving and getting out of there together.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ✧ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

Please consider leaving a comment here or on the original fanfic posted on AO3:

[porcupine-girl]

Would you like a gift?

For the second year, I'm participating in Battleship - a 2-3-week long fic exchange game where teams try to create fanworks to clear boards full of several hundred tags! Last year we generated over 2,000 fanworks (fic, art, and podfics), and this year we have more tags so there will probably be more fanworks!

Since Battleship is in the spirit of an exchange, every fanwork created has to be a gift for someone in response to a prompt they've left. Which means we need literally thousands of prompts to make sure anytime someone goes "ok I need to write a fic that features either Arranged Marriage or Fake Relationship AND either Grief/Mourning or Haunted Architecture" (yes all four are tags this year), they can find a prompt to fill using those tags.

Leaving prompts doesn't guarantee you'll get a gift, but the odds are definitely with you.

How do I leave prompts?

Go to the Battleship 2025 prompt collection and click "Sign Up" - don't worry, you're not actually signing up to play. Signups are closed, so you can ignore anything in the instructions about signing up. You're just here to leave prompts.

DO read the instructions, though! There are some things that can cause your prompt to get thrown out. The ones that are most likely to trip you up are:

Do NOT click that you want the prompt to be semi-anonymous. If you don't want your AO3 name listed on the prompt, you'll have to make a sockpuppet account.

Do NOT put any tags other than the ones in the collection's tagset in any of the fields!

DO make sure your account can receive gifts! (Preferences -> Collections, Challenges, and Gifts -> make sure "allow anyone to gift me works" is checked)

DO write something in the Optional Details section, even if it's just "I don't have any DNWs" (are you sure you don't have any DNWs?)

If the fandom and/or relationship you want isn't in the tagset yet (over 1000 fandoms already are, so check first!), you can nominate them at that tagset link - note that there are also pretty specific formatting rules for those, and tags will be rejected if you don't format them correctly. You'll probably have to wait a few hours for a mod to approve them before you can prompt with them.

For each prompt you'll need to specify:

A fandom that is in the tagset (gifter will have to work within this fandom)

1-20 characters or pairings that are in the tagset (gifter will have to include at least one of these)

0-4 archive warnings (only check off ones you DO want, but the gifter isn't required to include them even if you opt in)

1-3 mediums (fic, art, podfic) that you're willing to receive (these are listed as characters, ignore that)

1-576 Freeform tags from the tagset (gifter will have to include at least one - see notes under cut for more details on these)

A list of things you Do Not Want (if you've never made a DNW list, see details under the cut) (your gifter is NOT allowed to include any of these)

A list of things you do want, whether specific prompts or just vibes (you're not required to provide this but it's recommended; your gifter is not required to include these, but most will try their best)

Let me know if you have any questions! If I don't know the answer, I'll ask around for you.

A few other notes to keep in mind under the cut:

If you check off an archive warning, you are opting IN to receiving that warning (though your gifter isn't required to include it). However, even if you don't check one you could still receive it unless you list it as a Do Not Want (DNW).

There are 576 Freeform tags to choose from (the first 20 can go in Additional Tags, the rest in Optional Tags, these fields are treated as the same). You have to choose at least one, but can put as many as you want. Much like warnings, even if you don't list a tag, you might get it unless you DNW it, so it's a good idea to go through the list and compile a DNW Tags list.

Luckily the mods have set up a spreadsheet here to make all this easier - just check off tags and it will create a magic list for you to copy and paste, whether into the tag fields or for a DNW list!

Your gifter will be required to use at least one relationship and one freeform that you've selected - but be aware that they can choose ANY relationship + ANY freeform, so if there are, for example, some kinks you like with ship A but not ship B, you'll want to make separate prompts so you can choose different freeforms for the two ships.

All DNWs (whether warnings, freeform tags, or just other things you Do Not Want) must be listed in the Optional Details box for every prompt. Many times your gifter will not even see your other prompts, so don't expect them to read what's on another prompt. Just copy and paste that shit. Be as specific as possible - just saying "no kinks" will leave potential gifters wondering what you think is kinky. Don't worry about your list being too long, as long as you don't DNW anything that you chose in your tags (like a brother/sister pairing + DNW incest).

Do NOT explain why you don't want your DNWs - that's your business, and sometimes it can sound judgmental even if you don't mean to be (hopefully I don't have to tell you not to intentionally write anything judgmental, but: don't). Just list what you don't want, and gifters will avoid it without questioning why you don't want it, whether it's scat/watersports or Modern AUs or a specific character.

Note that if you choose an individual character, gifters are allowed to put that character in a pairing, so DNW any pairings you don't want them in (or you can just say "DNW Mr X in any romantic/sexual pairing")

You can (and should) also put things you like, either generally or for that fandom/ship, as well as specific prompts, in the Optional Details box, but these are optional, both for you and the gifter. The gifter only has to hit one relationship and one freeform (though most will do their best to make a gift you'll like).

You can submit up to 50 prompts per AO3 account.

Prompting will stay open throughout the event (which starts July 12 and ends 2-3 weeks later), so don't feel like you have to submit all your prompts at once!

If you do get a gift, be sure to leave a nice comment! ♥️

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part three

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, assault, death, grief (death of parent, partner & friend mentioned)

word count: 8.5k

previous part | next part | series masterlist

The morning light offers no solace to Lady Tyrell’s troubled mind. She wakes with an ache in her head that she knows will only serve to make her quite irritable as the day goes on if it is allowed to continue. Her plush silk comforter is drawn off of her figure as she calls with a hoarse throat for one of her maids to fetch something from the maesters that might offer relief from the dull throbbing pain in the back of her skull. 

One hand reaches up to gingerly press to her temple as she rubs it tiredly, rising from her bed as some creature from a ghostly afterlife clad in a long white nightgown. Her hair has been mussed from her tossing and turning, and the sad longing in her chest lets her know she dreamed of that which she no longer has in this life.

But every dream she has is meaningless and a waste. There is no future to be found in the mind of someone whose blood comes from dirt and weeds and wildflowers. Only bitter shards of a fragmented mirror of a past that cut her hands when she tries to piece it back together.

She does not allow the thought to deepen, well aware that if she does, she will not have the mental fortitude or energy to carry out the tasks that need seeing to that day. Instead, she slides her feet into her satin slippers and sighs wearily as Adelin enters the room, carrying ribbons for her hair. Lady Tyrell sinks down with slumped shoulders into the chair in front of her vanity mirror, taking note of how lifeless and dull her own eyes are staring back at her.

Adelin takes note of her lady’s visage but does not comment upon it, knowing well the weight upon her mind and heart. The handmaiden stands behind the chair, taking Lady Tyrell’s hair into her hands and working through it softly. 

Fingers brush against the girl’s scalp and she closes her eyes for a moment, allowing nothing but the soft touch and faint sound of birds outside to fall upon her in a gentle wash. When her lashes flutter open again, she stares half-lidded at the ornate wood of her vanity for too long, and then up at Adelin’s hands that weave ribbons gently into her hair. The satins are rather girlish, but she finds that they portray sweet innocence rather well if added subtly. 

There is a comfort in the familiar silence that comes with Adelin’s presence in the morning hours. Adelin has served the Lady Tyrell since she had come to live at King’s Landing all those years ago and had quickly become one of the only people who knew her true character. A thing the Lady Tyrell does not usually like, but there is no hiding anything from Adelin. Not when the handmaiden has been present to witness everything in the lady’s life at court. Every success, every loss, every heartbreak, every true feeling. All of them: beautiful and hideous and everything in between.

Perhaps Adelin is the only living person who knows her to that complete extent. Who sees a person, in a full sense.

 The comfort is brought to an end by the creaking of a panel by her bed. Lady Tyrell does not need to look up to see who it is. Her eyes are still cast dully to the wood of her vanity table. Adelin pauses and turns, before looking down at the lady. When the young woman gives no indication of any hurry or rush, opting rather to leave her glassy stare and tired posture firmly in her chair, Adelin quickly twists a final ribbon through her hair and then turns to leave the room. Her hand hovers on her lady’s shoulder for a moment longer than needed.

With a heavy sigh, Lady Tyrell rises from her chair and makes her way across the room, stepping across the wooden floor still in her slippers and nightgown. Drying roses sit on her bedside table, many of them downturned and hardening. Adelin had asked to bring her fresh ones recently, but the lady is not quite ready to part with them yet.

 The panel by the bed has been opened like a door, and the cloaked figure that stands obscured in the shadow of the passageway is wearing black, a dark hood pulled low over most of their face. Lady Tyrell needs not ask whom the figure is, and she does not believe she will ever get a name. Not a true one, anyhow. She draws to a stop in front of the figure, eyes dark as she waits expectantly with a serious expression on her delicate features.

A hand is produced from beneath folds of the inky fabric, like a comet emerging from dark heavens. A single scroll with a seal rests in the extended appendage, and Lady Tyrell takes it wordlessly. Her face gazes down at the sigil upon the wax seal with an unreadable expression, her eyes beholding the rose.

The ink is a dark blue, reminiscent of the sky before the darkness encases it fully. The favorite color of only one person she knows.

The girl’s hands tear through the seal, the nails of her fingers breaking the wax. A fragment of it lodges itself under the nail of her pointer finger. She pulls it out with a calm click of her tongue, before unrolling the scroll in her hands. The parchment crinkles as she demands it show her its contents.

It is not a long message. Direct and commanding, as her mother so often is. The woman has to be, to lead her House alone. As the girl’s eyes scan the dark ink that her mother’s words have been inscribed in, her eyebrows draw lower and her grip on the edge of the cream-colored paper becomes tighter, crinkling the sides she holds between her fingers.

A soft inhale of breath is let out through her nose when she finishes, and she turns to the candle by her bedside. The paper is dangled lazily above the open flame, and she watches with unimpressed eyes as it catches. The burning paper remains in her hands as it dwindles in size, and the lady’s attention returns to the figure in the shadowed passage.

“She has made her choice, then? She never did like the sea.” The Lady Tyrell’s tone is cool and clipped. There is no need for formalities with her mother’s network of anonymous messengers. The figure remains still and covered in darkness, but a voice carries out low and clear. A voice she has heard before, she notes. Her mother sent different messengers depending on the importance of secrecy. 

This is one of her mother’s favorites. How worried the lords and ladies outside of the Red Keep must be.

“No, but she likes the snow less so as of late.” The messenger speaks with a formal directness that implies nothing of emotion or opinion. Lady Tyrell’s eyebrows raise in a brash acknowledgment, her eyes looking to the side as she tilts her head. The feeling of flame licking about her fingertips tells her that the paper has finished burning.

“The South does not like what it is not used to,” Her lips drip with words that hide little of the sharp edge in her tone. “And so fair is our climate, as I have been told.” 

Eyes slide back towards the figure, intent flickering in their depths. The figure’s face cannot be seen, but the girl imagines them looking back at her.

“And you have spoke of the weather often?” Is the offered reply, just as intentional as her own. The girl looks down, a small smirk dancing across her pinkish lips as a cool amusement fills her pupils. Asking if she is making any progress on her mother’s task, on gaining the favor of this Northern lord that has everyone’s feathers ruffled and hackles raised.

“As often as I can. There is only so much one can say about the weather.” That icy amusement gives her words a frosty sheen. She chews the inside of her cheek before she catches herself, releasing the bitten skin.

“Do endeavor to make it interesting, then. She has expressed to you that she wishes it so. There is a growing discontent over this…visiting storm.” The messenger’s voice drifts over to her as she continues to stare down at the ground, deep in thought. As if she is not poignantly aware of how unhappy the majority of the nobles are with the Northen presence in the capital. 

But what can she do? Out of everyone, she should be amongst the most unhappy. She is trapped in the Red Keep, a prisoner in a place she had once been free to go and come from as she pleased. Left to offer herself up as bait to some stranger in hopes of bending him to her will. No different than cheese in a rat trap. It is a situation that leaves much to be desired.

“I am well aware of her wishes. It shall be done, as she commands.” Lady Tyrell is not in the business of ignoring her mother’s requests, nor in disappointing the woman. It is not that she fears her mother, but the thought of letting her down when so much of her family’s safety and status depends on her own actions in the capital leaves her with a heavy weight in her heart and between her ribs.

The messenger stands as still as a statue. She wonders briefly if they get hot, covered in such dark and heavy fabrics, skulking about the hidden passages of the castle at this early hour of the day. Lady Tyrell has not even dressed for the day yet. “She wishes to know your opinion on the nature of the storm.” 

She brushes a lock of loose hair over her shoulder, her eyebrows drawing closer while thoughts of the Lord of Winterfell are strung together to spin a likeness of what she has glimpsed of his character. As the lady recalls their distinct encounters, she feels her head begin to throb again. Delightfully fitting.

“It is difficult to say for certain,” Her shoulders lower as her head tilts again, an expression of near annoyance upon her face. Her eyes drift to the stones within the passage, cracked and worn from time and age. Small vines snake between a few of them, and cobwebs hang in silvery droplets in the corners. 

She knows well what her mother and many of the Southern lords think of the Northmen. That they are savages, brutal men raised among the snows with no manners and no civility. And Cregan Stark’s descent upon the capital with his pack of soldiers has only seemed to add fuel to those rumors. Many believe him to be a bloodthirsty beast of a man who wants heads rolling and war to rage through the Seven Kingdoms like a wildfire.

Lady Tyrell cannot truthfully say that this is the impression she has gained of Cregan thus far.

“It is not as brutal as was foretold.” She finds herself murmuring, much against her better judgment. It is not in her nature to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. But her mother will not wish to hear this, so she amends her words. “Not mindlessly bloodthirsty. Intense, certainly, but there is calculation and thoughtfulness. It is a storm that can be reasoned with, I do believe this.”

The messenger dips their head slowly, their tall hood drawing lower over their face.

“She will be most pleased to hear this. Rumors have grown dark as of late. The storm takes many prisoners. Several are destined for spikes, it would seem.” Eerie yet direct, the words reach her ears and give her pause. She has heard of the arrests that are being made. Yet there have been no direct proclamations of punishments from anyone who holds power at present. She is not familiar enough with the Lord of Winterfell to bring it up to him yet.

“Rumors grow and grow as they please. Useful, yes, but I will only tell what I have seen with my own eyes.” There is a certainty to her voice that does not quite reflect the worry gnawing at her heart. No, she shall keep that to herself. Let her mother believe that the girl is confident in her task and the future of their House until she has ample cause to truly fret.

The messenger turns and disappears into the darkness of the passageway. She looks into the inky depths, her mind racing with all sorts of questions and wonderings. The war had been terrible, and the neutrality decided upon by her mother had made Lady Tyrell’s place in the capital dangerous. She had only had the protection of being Helaena’s dearest companion, that was all that had stopped many powerful men from kidnapping her and threating her mother with the girl’’s safety. She knew they had wanted to. She had seen the way they had looked at her.

It was Helaena that had kept her safe and alive. Now, it is only herself that she can rely upon. That her mother can rely upon. Sharp nails dig into the palms of her hands.

The thought of Cregan Stark ordering heads upon spikes fills her mind as she walks the halls of the Red Keep that morning. He has made it quite clear to all in the capital that he intends to carry out justice to the fullest extent, but she does not know what justice looks like in his eyes. She is the last who should cast judgment, perhaps, but she wonders why his seemingly intense desire to keep the war going is as such.

Her heels click against the tile floor as she passes two ladies who greet her softly. She returns in kind, offering them a gentle smile. The morning has proved to be nothing but irritation, and she wishes to spend the remainder of it in the castle’s library. Ideally unbothered and left to research and scheme as she sees fit. 

The sunlight drips in through openings, gathering in pools beneath her feet as she walks by eastern-facing windows. It is rather quiet this morning, much to her relief, as the thought of being ambushed by mothers with hungry eyes and bachelor sons makes her nauseous and discontent. 

Despite the effort she is putting into weaseling her way into the Lord of Winterfell’s life, the girl fears it is not enough to save her from her own mother’s desire to see her daughter married. She has long since passed the expected age to marry, due to the extended betrothal to Daeron, and her younger sister grows close to the age as well.

Daughters are such excellent pieces on the chess board. She banishes the thoughts from her mind, wishing to enjoy what little time she has to herself.

Her momentary peace is ruptured quite violently for the second time that day by the slamming open of a door in front of her. She draws back quickly, shock flickering across her face as the thick wood bounces against the stone wall with a crash. The scene that is unfolding in front of her is nothing short of madness, and she wonders for a brief moment if the universe wishes her to see.

Her eyes land on the two Northmen first, dressed in their full armor, yanking a man out of his chambers as he shouts and thrashes his body in their arms. The man is red-faced and flailing but she recognizes him instantly as a first cousin of Lord Redwyne, who had sided with Aegon II during the war. There’s a muffled shout from inside, likely one of Redwyne’s own guards.

She jumps back, half on her toes, her eyes wide even at her safe distance down the hall from the altercation. Redwyne is screaming. One of the Northmen jerks him forward by the arm, trying to stop the man’s kicking and striking. She can barely make out what he’s saying, his high-pitched voice screeching something along the lines of not knowing who he is and his family’s wealth.

There is blood on his face, dripping down the man’s nose in crimson droplets that pool at his chin and fling in every direction as he whips himself about against the Northerners’ hold. If something is being said, she cannot make it out clearly. The lord grips the door with white and bloody knuckles, as if he intends to hold on for dear life and not let these men drag him wherever they please. 

One of the Northern men strikes Redwyne across the face in an attempt to put an end to the man’s screaming, but it only serves to increase the lord’s panic. Blood from the strike splatters onto the open door, staining the oak with thin red streaks.

Redwyne’s frantic eyes snap up to her figure down the hall. 

Her breath catches in her chest. The lord, with renewed vigor now that he has spotted her, drives his elbow into one Northman’s face. The other man draws back with a howl of pain, and Redwyne takes the opportunity to slip out of their grasp as everyone’s hands seem to be covered in blood. The lord runs at her like she will save him.

She has no strength with which to move or even draw breath. There is no enemy in front of her – House Redwyne has served House Tyrell loyally for centuries. But with all that has occurred in the war and even in recent days, Lady Tyrell has found herself growing wary even of those who are sworn to her family. The Reach was divided during the war, some of the houses turning on each other in the brutal succession dispute.

As a prudent person, it is only wise to consider everyone a potential enemy in a time of war. Redwyne could ask for her assistance. He could just as easily hold a knife to her throat and threaten to kill her if the Northmen did not leave him alone. But she does not have the time to spy or scheme or draw conclusions as the man barrels down the hall to her. 

There is only the fear that she feels each and every time she is violently reminded of her own helplessness.

Redwyne, despite what little luck Lady Tyrell might consider herself to have, trips and falls to his knees in front of her. Determined still, he crawls to her as the Northmen come running down the hall after him, their steps heavy and echoing. Redwyne’s hands clutch at her skirts as she tries to step back, balling up the pastel fabric of the gown in his hands and looking up at her with sheer panic, eyes wide and pupils beady.

“Please my lady, put a stop to this madness! These savages will kill me!” His voice is a shrill scream, breaking through the air hysterically. Her lips part in shocked silence, her eyes nearly as wide as his own as she looks down at this man, one of the lords sworn to her House, begging for her help. Beaten and bloody, on his knees. 

As the Northmen reach them, one man bending down to yank Redwyne away from her skirts as he clings on and shrieks, heart and head tug her in two very different directions. Redwyne’s arms, however, seem to have the strongest pull. She knows she is falling.

Lady Tyrell does not have the time to put her arms behind her in a fruitless attempt to break her fall. Redwyne has too strong of a hold on her dress and she lacks the stature to pull back with equal weight to balance, even as the Northmen rip him off of the fabric. 

What little faith she holds in divine intervention might be strengthened when she discovers she does not hit the unforgiving stone floor. It is arms she collapses into rather, her back hitting someone’s chest and her weight behind held up by arms that have hooked underneath her underarms. Her head whips to the side with the rush of adrenaline that has at last has kicked in, as if her body has only remembered moments too late that she retains some semblance of a wish to live.

She nearly bashes the back of her skull into Cregan Stark’s face. 

Breaths burst out of her mouth in ragged gasps as she lurches her right shoulder forward so she can turn her head around to see him. His thick brows are knitted together in serious worry, searching her face for some sign that she is unharmed. She has no ladylike comfort to offer him in that moment, her chest heaving with the panic that is utterly useless due to its lack of timeliness.

Her own brows are drawn low, a cross between fear and shock. Rapid blinks flutter her lashes as her panic twists to confusion. One of Cregan’s arms draws her closer, his wide hand pressing tenderly into her stomach to bring her nearer. Her left shoulder bumps against his chest and she jolts at the touch. 

“Are you harmed, my lady?” His low voice is deepened by urgency, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity that, coupled with the way his hand is splayed over her stomach, sets her already fraught nerves alight with a richer, warmer hum. Her slightly frantic eyes flicker up and down his face as Cregan holds her, his broad arms and shoulders gathering her to him.

“No,” She breathes, and his frown deepens at the airiness of the word.

In the panic that had set in, she had not noticed that Cregan had fallen to one knee to catch her, as her lower half is on the floor. And there he remains, her figure pulled upward into his much larger frame, his knee pressed to the cold stone. His other hand comes to rest overtop of the first on her stomach, his elbows drawing back towards himself as he holds her torso up easily, arms still hooked under her shoulders.

She can hear Redwyne’s screams echo against the walls as he is dragged down the hall and out of sight by the Northmen. Out of sight, yet not out of earshot. His bloodcurdling shrieks can still be heard after he disappears from view. There are red stains on the soft skirts of her dress, crimson handprints and trails left from the lord being ripped off of her.

Dull eyes stare down at the blood, still wet and sticky. There is no need to wonder when she last had drying scarlet soaked into the fabric of her clothes. It had seemed so much starker last time, perhaps because it had stained the white of her nightgown. How long had she waited for the body to be pulled from the iron spikes and brought to her?

Men had tried to usher her back inside the Holdfast, but the screaming girl could not have been dragged there short of a blow to her head to render her unconscious. Redwyne’s thrashing was so eerily reminiscent of her own. She recalled her limbs hitting armor, open palms pushing at a blurry face who was attempting to keep her from climbing into the moat herself.

 It was slow work, guards twisting the Queen’s body off of the shining iron. The moonlight had caught the sides of the metal in an almost celestial glow. Is there anything so sickeningly ironic, to see a glimpse of heaven in one’s worst hell?

Lady Tyrell’s throat had gone hoarse from the howls that had torn their way from her chest, deep and primal horror and shock. It had been too soon to call it grief. She must have woken the whole castle by the time she had the lifeless frame in her arms. Flames had begun to dance in the windows, voices and footsteps approaching in faint, slow echoes. No sooner had she been yanked away, her outstretched fingers clawing for her dearest friend. Her only friend.

Give her back to me.

As with tearing fabric, she rips her mind from the onslaught of memories with such force that her torso jerks back, her shoulder driving itself into Cregan’s wide chest. He gives no indication of it bothering him, his grip on her stomach only tightening in case he needs to keep her from fully collapsing to the floor.

Her mother’s handwriting from that morning flashes through her mind, as the woman’s words so often do. They swirl across the back of her eyelids in looping scroll, long and elegant, commanding and absolute.

There is work to be done.

Mustering every ounce of strength she has, all feelings plaguing her mind are crushed down in the cavity of her chest like ripening fruit to be juiced. Wrenching for a semblance of the efficiency which she normally finds herself operating with, she paints a soft smile on her face when she turns her head to meet Cregan’s eyes again.

“No, I am perfectly alright my lord,” Airy yet sweet, the words are presented as one would bring out a tray of pastries and candies. It comes back to her rather quickly, even in the wake of her panic. Muscle memory, even if the indication of this is slightly more alarming. Shoulders droop elegantly as she lowers her gaze. “Although I imagine I would not have been, if you had not come to catch me. You have my gratitude, Lord Stark.”

If Cregan were not so worried about her wellbeing, the Lord of Winterfell might be appalled by the speed at which the lady’s persona has returned to her. As if someone has drawn up a porcelain puppet by its strings, the girl flickers to life with fluttering lashes and a downturned chin. 

“Are you sure of this?” It is quieter a tone than he has ever spoken to her in. Not warm, not soft, but low and wary. A hesitant peace one might offer to a wounded animal. But she does not wish to be perceived as prey. 

“I promise, I am unharmed. You needn’t worry.” There is no feeling in her words, merely polite gratitude. She pulls herself from Cregan’s hold gently, and he rises from his knee, one large hand beneath hers so that she might steady herself enough to stand when she puts her legs beneath her. To her relief, her limbs do not tremble. 

Cregan’s heavy gaze remains locked on her eyes as they stand in front of each other, her hand still pressed down into his open, offered palm. Her skin is warm to the touch, he notices. As soft as it looks. 

She withdraws her hand first, fingers curling in on each other when she pulls her elbow in towards her side, arm dropping slowly. Cregan’s hand remains between their bodies a moment longer before he lets it fall. The skirts of her dress brush against the stone floor when she turns slowly, to gaze down the hall at where Redwyne had been dragged off and out of sight.

It had been Cregan’s men that arrested him. As shocked as she had been by the man’s grabbing at her, Redwyne is still one of the men under House Tyrell’s protection. And she had stood there, mute and wide-eyed, while Northern men had dragged the lord off to the dungeons in such a brutal scene. Useless.

Cregan cannot guess exactly what Lady Tyrell is thinking, but he can begin to. A heavy sigh escapes his lips and he runs his hand down his face, letting it rub over his mouth. He had told his men not to be so rough.  Yet given how much hatred the Southerners had for them, the Lord of Winterfell can only imagine the vile things said to the Northerners when they came to arrest a lord of the Reach, especially one who had sided with Aegon in the war.

Full blame cannot be given to them, but Cregan finds himself irked that such a scene was caused, especially in front of a lady. A lady who had very nearly been harmed in the process. Despite his mistrust of the Lady Tyrell and her intentions, Cregan does not fancy himself a leader who drags women into fights. Dropping his hand heavily, his strong gaze fixes itself on the back of her head.

“I apologize, my lady. It was because of actions I ordered that you were nearly harmed.” Cregan can acknowledge when his actions cause damage, even if it was not his intention. Yet he has to stop himself from explaining further. This line of thinking comes as a surprise to him. 

Why should he feel the need to explain himself to this girl? Is it because he has stormed into her home and taken power with an army at his back, demanding everyone do as he commands? When he phrases it like that in his head, he sees quite clearly what he must look like to her.

A northern savage come to spoil for war and bloody the floors of the Red Keep as he tramples peace beneath his heavy boot.

“I bear no grudge against you for it.” Sweet and soft, her voice floats over to him like notes from a string instrument. Cregan cannot see the expression on her face as she keeps her back to him.

There is that nagging pull in the back of his skull again, to reason with her and justify the need to round up the final turncoats. The need to plant himself firmly in the viper’s den until he has torched them all out into the open. He clenches his fists tightly instead.

“Such is how things are, in times like these.”  It is a gentle acquiescence, served to him in a tone of agreeable pleasantness. The raise of her chin makes her hair fall even lower down her back.

Cregan has begun asking questions. About her, and her role in the war, and where her allegiances lie. He is gathering what information he can in an attempt to find her motivations or intentions with him. In his quest for information, he learned she remained here in the castle for the entirety of the war. The Red Keep had not been free of bloodshed. “Certain actions must be taken to prevent further tragedy from befalling the Realm.”

Her eyes flick down to the floor, and she is glad her back is turned to him as a cold curl of her lip twists onto her face. If Cregan Stark fancies himself a great protector of the Realm, whatever is he doing pursuing further fighting? Whatever is he doing ignoring Corlys Velaryon’s attempts to plead for peace?

“I am sure you are only doing what is necessary, my lord.” Lady Tyrell manages a small, imperceptible breath to calm herself and returns a smile to her face before she turns to look him in the eyes again. And there he stands, face as stern and serious as ever, shoulders low and heavy, jaw tense. She finds irritation at the realization that she has seen him enough times to have an expectation for his appearance. 

Her mother would be so pleased. The woman would happily send one of her lesser bannermen off to the dungeons if it gave her darling daughter a moment alone with the now resigned yet apologetic Lord of Winterfell, the strongest power in the capital at present.

She dips her head, voice lowering and a faintly timid wobble ghosting her lips. “Forgive me if I do not seem certain in my words. I cannot say violence agrees much with me. I know not what to do in the face of it.”

Cregan does not think the role of timid maiden suits her, yet he had seen firsthand how she had frozen when Redwyne had charged. She is wickedly smart and worryingly bright, but fearless does not seem to be among her many shining qualities. He nods slowly, his eyes maintaining their hold on hers. “That is perfectly understandable.”

As the blood on the edges of her dress continuously makes itself known to her, a quiet draw that has grown into a more persistent yanking of her attention, she feels the sudden and unshakable urge to rip the clothing from her body. As sure as it would be to draw Lord Stark’s attention, with dry humor she thinks to herself that it is not the sort of attention she is seeking.

Her palm presses into the back of her hand as she squeezes them together too tightly.

“If it would not trouble you, Lord Stark,” She begins with renewed determination, eyes bright as they gaze up into his. “I have been hoping for a chance to know you further. Perhaps dinner tonight might be a more suitable location for such a discussion?” 

If Cregan had not come to expect this sort of request from her, he might have deemed her truly mad. Instead, his eyes narrow a flicker, and his head tilts slightly. With cool neutrality, he appraises her before another dense sigh falls from his lips. He gives her a nearly scrutinous look.

“I imagine if I say no I shall still find myself encountering you sooner rather than later, my lady.” Her persistence is nothing short of intense, despite the delicate manner in which it is packaged. Cregan will acknowledge this of her.

Lady Tyrell finds his response nearly entertaining but does her best to hide this. Still, bitter amusement glitters in the depths of her eyes like stars obscured by hazy cloud cover. 

“You would honor me with your presence.” Is all that she offers him instead.

It is only when she turns to leave that she realizes she had felt no fear when Cregan Stark held her in his arms.

The gardens are quiet at the late hour in the evening. Few stroll within its pathways, and even fewer venture far enough in to stumble upon the Lord of Winterfell and the Lady Tyrell. The stone gazebo offers an open yet secluded spot for meals that require propriety yet privacy. There is nothing scandalous about meeting in the open air, many viewpoints offering full sight past the white archway with hanging flowers and the stone columns snaked with vines. Her handmaiden Adelin remains a respectable distance down the pathway that approaches, busying herself by pulling her fingers through delicate needlework. From the far side of the patio, a view of the bay is offered. Ships twinkle across the dark waves like golden stars.

Cool wind drifts in lazily from over the open ocean, flickering the abundant candles that decorate the round stone table. It picks up loose strands of Lady Tyrell’s hair as she sits opposite Cregan. Opting for a softer appearance, much of her hair has been left free of any sort of arrangement and her gold gown is much simpler in design than the other extravagant dresses he has seen in her. The edges glow in the candles that dot the table in front of them, placed in between trays of meats and cheeses. Her beauty has far from escaped his noticed. If she is shaken by the events that occurred earlier that day, it does not show anywhere upon her.

She cuts at a thick portion of meat, the juices flowing out onto the plate below as she draws her knife through the slice gracefully. Her eyes remain drawn to her task, giving Cregan the opportunity to stare as he pleases. He watches as she takes her fork, pressing it tenderly into the meat before she pulls it to her lips. They part around it as she places it onto her tongue, chewing slowly before she swallows. His eyes flick to the movement at her throat. 

Lady Tyrell has had the entire afternoon to calm and compose herself. It was not an easy task, not at first, but it was managed with a silent day spent reading in the library and a glass of red wine. This she normally denies herself, especially when she is meeting with a stranger she wants something from, but it was the only way to bring ease to her troubled mind.

She wishes to be relaxed this night, to portray a semblance of peace to Cregan. Here in the darkness of the evening, the soft smell of vanilla and pumpkin and candle smoke drifting to her nose, the waves languidly drawing upon the rocks far below, it is quite easy for her to pretend. A full moon can be seen hanging lazily in the cloudless sky, nestled amongst twinkling stars.

As she finishes with the first bite of meat, her eyes flicker up to look across the circular table at Cregan. He has not touched his own food but is instead staring at her quite intensely.  It would seem he possesses the decency to return his attention to his plate when she catches him. Her smile is faintly amused at the sight, her gaze returning down to her own silverware.

“Your family, Lord Stark,” She begins in a clear tone, hoping to attain some further understanding of the man besides what her information network has told her. “I hear you have a sister. Is she well?” 

It is not the most delicate question she could begin with; she knows that most of his immediate family is dead. But it is an expected question when one gets to know someone. She shall face it head on. A breeze flutters in from the sea, setting the candleflames flickering.

“Aye, she is,” Cregan tells the lady truthfully, the words low yet somewhat less gruff than the tone she has grown used to him using. He seems genuinely fond of this sister, and not offended at her asking after his family. Lady Tyrell considers this a good start. “Although she was not pleased that I left her behind to go south.”

Amusement crinkles at the corner of Cregan’s eyes as he remembers his sister’s insistence that he not lead the men himself, or at the very least that he allow her to accompany him. Sara certainly has all their father’s Northern stubbornness.

Lady Tyrell finds herself nodding as she reaches for a bunch of grapes, plucking the ripe fruit up by its stem. “My own sister has often expressed similar sentiments to me in her letters.”

Cassia is the most darling thing in Lady Tyrell’s heart. Her dear younger sister, kind and gentlehearted and smart as any maester. The girl has often written long letters of parchment, begging her elder sister to return home to Highgarden and visit, or to convince their mother to allow her to visit the capital. Lady Tyrell can think of nothing more horrifying than her sister here, among the snakes and scorpions.

Cregan’s eyes glance up from his food to look at her, the lady across from him delicately popping a grape into her mouth.

The fruit bursts sweetly onto her tongue. 

“It is hard to be parted from them, is it not?” The Lord of Winterfell’s face retains that polite yet reserved expression, his hands returning to wielding his fork and knife to carve into the meat atop his plate. There is a regalness to which he does the simple action that draws pause from her. The tides encroach idly onto the rocks far below.

She reaches up to brush a strand of hair that has fallen into her face, her other hand using her fork to pick up a cube of thick cheese. “It is.”

“You have a brother as well, is that correct my lady?” Calm grey eyes rest upon her face as the man awaits a response to a question he very well knows the answer to. One can only expect him to have done his research, even if only at surface level. Her head tilts slightly, causing some of her hair to spill off of her shoulders and cascade down her back. Wind rustles the hanging flowers that dangle from the stone roof of the gazebo.

“Indeed.” Soft is the reply, pleasant and straightforward. Lady Tyrell once again takes note of the effect that the abundance of candles has on his hair. She understands the old sayings, of those with red hair being kissed by fire, quite plainly when she sees Cregan Stark in the candlelight. Her eyes drift to her plate as she takes a small bite of the cheese. When she finishes eating it, she gives Cregan a wry smile. “The Lord of Highgarden, yet he is only three. Much growing shall be done until he takes his place as the head of our House.” 

Her little brother is almost entirely unknown to her. She has met him but once, when he was only a moon old. Still, he had been such a sweet and happy baby. His little hand wrapped so tightly around her finger as he laughed up at his big sisters. Lady Tyrell’s father had not often bothered himself with his daughters. He wanted a son, an heir. It was not for her mother’s lack of trying; many babes had been lost in between the births of the three children, who were rather far apart in age. Yet the man had died before his son was born. The son that he had desired above all else. 

It has been three years now since her father’s death, and she does miss him. The former Lord Tyrell had been older than most married men when Lady Tyrell had been born and exceptionally old at the time of her mother’s latest pregnancy. His death had been sad, yet somewhat expected. She’d had much time to prepare, and as had her family.

“Three, is he?” Cregan breaks through her thoughts. When she looks up there is an emotion on his face that she hesitantly deems as fondness, or a gentle pride. “Mine own son is as well.” 

The fire atop the cream-colored candles dance and jump about, the tips of their flames reaching up towards the roof of the patio. Crisp night air flows in from over the balcony, cooling the temperature yet not making it unbearable. She imagines Cregan still finds it rather warm for his taste.

“Does he take after you, my lord?” Lady Tyrell presents the inquisition delicately, before she raises the white cloth of her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth softly. She takes careful notice of how Cregan’s eyes fall to the table for a moment, their stormy depths gazing into one of the tiny candle flames. His expression grows distant, yet not cold.

The stars above the open ocean shine brightly. It is a long moment before he speaks once more.

His lips part slower, his eyes remaining drawn to the flickering glow of fire. “Nay, he favors his mother.”

Lady Tyrell knows of Cregan’s first wife, the former Lady of Winterfell. She had been married to Cregan when they were both eighteen, and she had died in childbirth. This is as much information as she has been able to compile; not much is known of Arra Norrey nor her family. House Norrey is a minor Northern house, and Lady Tyrell cannot pinpoint why Lord Stark had married her. The question had rattled about in her mind when she had first learned this history.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, I do not wish to…” She begins with faux hesitantly as she tries to determine if the conversation topic is a safe one to venture into or better left untouched. Cregan shakes his head, slowly still, and his eyes lift from the candle to meet hers. They are neutral and somewhat weary, but the same fondness present when he spoke of his son remains. 

“It is alright,” Cregan has learned how to speak of Arra by now. “I am glad of it, in truth. To see her in him still.”

Lady Tyrell looks down at her plate, dropping her eyes from his. Beneath the round stone table, her fingers press together tightly, and she digsa one into the skin of her palm. She never can drop the habit. It is in her own interest to ask further, now that the topic has been proven somewhat safe, but a rare twinge of guilt catches like embers in the pit of her chest. Burning orange in the black depths of the coal in her tired heart.

“And your wife, she was of House…?” The girl poses the question softly, unwilling to lift her gaze quite yet. She has not taken another bite of her food.

“House Norrey, my lady.” An answer provided with reserved politeness, in that low Northern cadence. Her chin tilts down further a moment before she raises her head, a neutral. The candlelight creates golden orbs in the dark of her pupils.

“Norrey,” Soft repetition, quiet and delicate. “I cannot say I know much of them”

“That does not surprise me,” His thick brows raise as he casts his attention down to the food remaining on his plate, cutting into the meat once more. The tone of his voice picks up to a more conversational pace despite the heaviness of the topic. 

Lady Tyrell taps her foot beneath the skirts of her evening gown before she stills her leg, resting her hand in her lap. The soft rumble of a ship horn echoes out over the dark water, low and distant. Cregan takes a juicy square of meat onto his fork and chews it thoughtfully before continuing. “House Norrey is a smaller house, hailing high in the northern mountains.” 

There is a delicate nod given at this information, and she offers him her full attention — eyes resting on his face and her hands still. The remaining grapes and cheese upon her plate reminiscent of those in a still life painting. Cregan continues to eat despite her unwavering gaze, fork and knife held rather tight in his calloused hands. 

She has not had her fill of the conversation yet. A hand reaches out to take hold of her golden goblet, which she has been cruelly neglecting, the stem between her middle fingers and weight of bowl resting on her palm. With Cregan’s attention on the meat, she can fix him with the distantly scrutinizing look that accurately reflects her true thoughts. 

“If you will forgive my asking, how did your union come about then?” Innocence flutters at the edge of the question, a simple, girlish curiosity about her words. Her head tilts as Cregan’s eyes flick up to her, mid-bite, and there is that signature saccharine smile. 

He notes the glass in her hand and wonders briefly if she has any intention to drink the wine or if she will merely tease it about the edges of her lips as she did the other night.

“It was what we both wished. There was nothing more to it.” He tells her after swallowing, his head moving a bit with the words. A straightforward answer but not the one she seeks. Cregan Stark can see it despite her commendable efforts to appear nonplussed; like a shark on the scent of blood, trying to find what he got out of his marriage to Arra. 

Wispy lashes are set aflutter when she looks down a moment before continuing her line of questioning.

“You loved her then?” Lady Tyrell’s eyes return to hold Cregan’s steadily. The warm smell of the gourmand candles wafts without hurry up to her nose. There is a long pause before the Lord of Winterfell continues and she finds she does not much like the way he is looking at her. Reserved and proper as any gentleman, yet there is a searching in his eyes that makes her feel as if he is the one pseudo-interrogating her rather than the other way around.

Nails press into the palm in her lap once more. She cares little to be picked apart under a man’s gaze. No, she much prefers to do the analyzing herself.

“Aye, I did.” Cregan affirms, his words holding a matching intensity to his eyes. “I do.”

There is no true way to discern if he is lying, but Lady Tyrell finds herself with the rare certainty that there is no deception in his words. Perhaps a flicker of understanding alights in her chest when he amends his statement to the present tense despite Lady Arra’s death. The persistence of love in the absence of a place to put it is such a difficult thing to replicate.

She takes a breath through her nose, her shoulders raising slightly as she sets her glass down and reaches for a single grape from her bunch. “Such a match is quite rare. I cannot say I know of many.”

This, Cregan believes. Especially if since she has spent so much time in this castle where ambition and falsehood seem engrained into the stones that compose the foundation. He gives her a slow nod. “I was fortunate.”

“So you were.” Charming and wide, she smiles graciously at him before plucking another grape. The fruit does not taste as sweet any longer. 

The concept of marrying for love does not fit well into the portrait of Cregan Stark she is painting in her head. Or rather, the criminal record is she compiling for her own reference to better increase her chances of winning his favor. All he has droned on about since arriving is the importance of duty and honor: love seems to have little place among those two things. 

In her opinion, no one marries for love but commoners. It is true that occasionally love can be found in matches made among the noble houses, but it is rare. And rarer still that a union is created because love already exists. Unless ‘love’ is instead an improper coupling. 

And the information calls slight irritation to her mind; it is much easier to convince a man he is attracted to one’s wealth and body than to convince him that he loves someone.

She casts her eyes to the moon and the horizon, where the water meets the inky sky. So often has she sat here in the gazebo, bathed in soft candlelight and dining on fine foods. Surrounded by smell of salt and sea and gourmand delights, by the flowers and vines clinging to the stone giving off fragrant scents of their own.

“Do you intend to marry again, Lord Stark?” Lady Tyrell asks suddenly, her eyes still lingering on the sky. Cregan’s gaze remains drawn to her visage, taking in her lips and the turn of her nose and the height of her cheeks. Here in the garden, away from the crowded halls of the castle, she continues to shine. But in a quieter, muted sense. Even as she lies to him and puts on her lovely act.

Cregan shall tell her what she wishes to hear. “I imagine I shall. It is my duty, as Lord of Winterfell.” 

“An honorable thing to do.” She breathes sweetly. 

The candles upon the table flicker and jump in the wind once more.

[motherloads]

Timeless

This is genuinely for me, myself and I - purely a servitude to my thoughts and what I wish I'd find on tumblr just once. I have tons of drafts if anyone is interested - tentative one was Marauders Era w/ Gwen Stacy!Reader. Imagine that? Seeing your once lover with a name you don’t recognize- Remus Lupin?

anyways idgaf, truly. not proofread!

Tags: overpowered!reader (oops), crossover with marvel, no happy ending (question mark)

Word count: 6.8k

Pairings: Dick Grayson x fem!Reader

The times many began noticing the lover of Dick Grayson. Clueless to the secrets from, both sides unravel as truths begin to overflow the deceit. Love is overpowering, but grief consumes one. Your secrets were your own to keep, and you vowed to never let anyone know of how the power were unbalanced, by yours truly. But, the biggest question was - why was Peter Parker in Gotham?

⋆｡°✩

It don't matter what they say, I'm timeless.

He cherished you dearly. 

You were the one. He knew you were the one. The soft smiles shared, the soft caresses, the little notes he left around your apartment once he left after visiting. 

It was a secret you two shared. He vowed to never share this secret with another. Nobody needed to know of his weakness. Nobody needed to know of your existence. 

He finds himself outside your door again. He knocks. And he waits. He waits as he hears your soft footsteps, the clicking of your locks. He waits as the door opens and a figure engulfs him in a hug. He hugs back, taking a deep breath to take in your scent. Freshly showered, he could immediately tell. 

You usher him inside, closing and re-locking your door. He smells the aroma of food, and his smile widens.

He knew. He understood. You were the one. 

“What are you thinking about?” You questioned, brushing his hair out of his eyes softly. You looked at him endearingly, as if he was the only person on this earth. 

“You.” He says softly, bringing you in another hug. He sighs softly, hearing your laughter in his sweater. You try to pull away, but his hug tightens. 

“If we can start eating, that would be great.” Your voice muffled, and finally, you’re able to push him away. You both smile at one another, and you both lean in to meet each other in a kiss. It’s soft, he can taste the chocolate of your lip gloss. He feels your smile widen.

When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead. You hold his arm, your grip tightening. 

“I love you.” He says, sighing into  your hair. 

“I love you too, Dick.” 

⋆｡°✩

“Sorry about that,” a voice above you apologizes, you ignore the response, opting to pick up the items that had fallen out of your purse. Collecting everything, you pick yourself up from the ground.

You smile at the man, “No worries - oh, thank you.” He reaches out to hand your phone. Inspecting it, you see no cracks. Your eyes catch sight of the polaroid resting in your phone case. Your gaze softens, a picture of Dick and your kitten. 

You put your phone away, looking back up to the man who bumped into you. Your grip tightens on your grocery basket, watching the man's gaze harden, looking at the place where your phone once was. 

You side step him, moving away from the eerie atmosphere. The man watches you leave as he ruffles his own hair. The strand of white blocks his vision for a split second, before he moves it away again. 

“How interesting, Dickwing.”

⋆｡°✩

You meet Tim Drake next. 

Meet was an understatement. It was more like…him keeping tabs on you.

Becoming aware of his brother’s lover was an unexpected twist. He did not expect Dick to bounce back after Kory, especially with Mar’i in the picture, their daughter who they had shared custody of. 

He was silent, watching you dine with your friends from afar. You looked like a nice woman. He sees how your smile widens when one friend shows their daughter, but he sees it falter when another speaks of their twin boys. As quickly as it falters, he sees you brighten up again.

Did you want kids? He could not help but wonder, seeing the women – the mothers around you share stories of their restless children. 

“What about you? How is your relationship with Richard?” One question. He sees your smile widen, and he is not sure how that was even possible. 

“It's so…great.” You look away from your friends, as he sees you grow embarrassed by the nervous ticks in your hand. “He is the definition of a green flag. Very caring, thoughtful. I think…I would be ready for the next step.” He sees you grow bashful, your fingers touching your glass softly.

He hears your friends gush. He sees some congratulate you over the next big step. 

He looks at you again. He catches your eye. He freezes on the spot, never having been caught this way by a civilian. The eye contact felt like it was lasting forever. Red tinges the corners of his eyes and when he blinks, it’s gone. 

When he’s looking at you again, you were already looking at another friend. 

He could not help but wonder if you knew about Mar’i. 

He sees you tense. 

⋆｡°✩

Two girls are in your bakery. Hushed whispers from one, but you see them in the corner of your eyes. The same one whispering is not hidden from her antics, but the silence of the pair is following along to the telltale signs of translations.

You notice one of your workers going up to them, dropping off the food they ordered. You notice how nervous your worker is, but they come back and shuffle to speak to you. 

“This is their third time this week.” Natasha states. You catch the two girls staring at the back of Natasha’s fiery red hair. You opt to look back at Natasha. 

“Paying customers, Nat.” The nickname gets caught in your throat, but you smile at her nonetheless. “As long as they aren’t bothering others, it is fine.” “Yeah, but…” Natasha is hesitant, “The blonde one is always talking about you.” Natasha, just like your Natasha, was able to read sign language. Previously, she had confided that the version the girls used was unique, but she eventually caught along to their conversations. 

“It’s okay,” You reassure Natasha, “If anything happens, I’m right here.”

Natasha smiles nervously, but as she catches sight of another customer, she moves away to begin working once more. 

You look back at the young girls, seeing their conversation end the moment you look back. 

The blonde one tenses, but the one with black hair, stares back at you. 

You smile, and the girl nods. 

⋆｡°✩

“What is so good about you?” You hear a young voice sneer. You look down, catching sight of a younger teen. Immediately recognizing him as Bruce Wayne’s youngest child, you only smile at him. 

“I’m sorry?” You question him, clueless to his question. Of course, you knew of the boy considering how often the girls you tutored talked about him. But, as you weren’t privy to online media, your connection to him was unknowing. You wanted to live a peaceful life, afterall. 

“What is so good about you?” He repeats, “Richard has no reason to be seeing someone like you.” The name brings your attention once more. 

“Richard? Dick Grayson?” You question, confused, “How do you know him?” “You truly are clueless.” Damian scoffs - he hears a young voice call his name, but he decides to ignore them. “I would have preferred for Richard to stick with his family. Break up.”

You shake your head at Damian, finding his statement confusing. “Sorry, no can do.”

“You will surely regret this.” Before Damian continues, a boy his age appears. He starts pulling Damian away, apologizing profusely. 

“Mar’i does not deserve an absent father just because of a civilian.” You hear Damian’s argument. 

You see him get pulled away from you. Your confusion increases. 

From Tim Drake’s mind, you had noted the name Mar’i. Hearing it vocally from Damian Wayne, you could not help but wonder who she was. 

⋆｡°✩

You think all those small moments lead to this. You could not help but wonder, how it came to be this way. You weren’t stupid, but for your own happiness in this world, you opted to remain clueless of the things occurring in Gotham City. 

The woman with fiery hair stands across the street from you. She was tall, and effortlessly beautiful with the way the colors swarmed around her whole being. A small girl in her hands, who giggled at the intense tickles she was experiencing from her mother was a heartwarming sight to see. 

You felt yourself smile, seeing the beauty of a family blossom in front of you. How gorgeous having a family was. How gorgeous, having a living, breathing daughter.

You wished for a family. 

Your eyes catch sight when the girl squeals in excitement, “Daddy!” The girl shouts, wiggling from her mother’s grip. You see her rush to a man, who picks her up effortlessly. You hear the family laughter, as Dick Grayson holds the small girl in his arms. 

“Hi Mar’i, how is my lovely girl?” Lovely girl. He calls you that too. 

Your breath catches in your throat, watching the scene in front of you. Your heart is ripped away from you, the moment you see the other woman go up to him and greet Dick - Richard. 

“I see.” You muttered softly, “A happy ending has never been a possibility for me.”

You catch your eyes drifting to Dick. His eyes focused on Mar’i. You see the resemblance. 

Was this your life? Being a homewrecker?

That wasn’t you, though.

You were just a woman. A woman mourning the loss of a relationship that has yet to end. Simply a woman.

What is love? Love is an emotion. Yes, it is overwhelming. Yes, you've yearned for it for years. You wished and wished for someone - anyone to listen to your pleas. Grief had overpowered you once before, you surely knew it. You understood - love was not in your cards.

But what is grief? What is grief, if not love persevering?

Your mantra that your past lover had once shared. He has been gone, for awhile. The graves you had made for him here. For your children. You knew they've been gone for awhile, and they would not return.

Love is persevering. 

What a lie. 

You move away. You create distance. You feel the unshed tears free. You continue to walk. Away from the scene. You ignore the stares.

You bump into someone.

Familiar. 

Your heart stops, staring at the boy in front of you. He was older, but still the same boy you knew. But those familiar brown eyes stared at you in shock. 

“Wanda?” He whispers - almost as if he recognized your red signature. But he knew - your heartbeat had stayed the same. Across the universes, it had been the same.

You see that he’s dirty. He smells, but you opt to ignore it. You move closer to the boy, putting your hands on his cheeks. He looks up at you, his eyes wide. His heartbeat is frantic. 

“Peter.” You mutter. 

⋆｡°✩

“I can’t believe you remember me…” Peter mutters softly, his hands shaking as he looks down at the tea you made. He’s in the comfort of your warm apartment. He surveys the photos you have, as the kitten in his lap purrs. 

“Broken minds cannot be altered,” You say simply. “The…spell that sent you here was long before I died.” You drink your own hot tea, “It’s understandable that my memories would not be altered.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Peter is tired. He’s so tired. He’s spent the past few months running from the Bats, while trying to maintain his home in an abandoned complex he found. 

You swore he could stay, but he feared the worst for you. He didn’t want you to suffer – he had not a clue of what had occured with Dr. Strange, but he understood that the look in your eyes was one of a woman mourning death. 

“I prepared the guest room for you.” You tell him, patting his shoulder softly. “It should have everything you need, but if you need anything else, please let me know.”

Thank you. 

“I- Thank you.” Peter mutters, looking at you once more. He had a soft, sad smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Peter.” 

He’s silent for a moment, thinking. 

“My uncle’s alive here. I met him. He keeps…checking up on me and I feel weird seeing him so…young.” He mutters, “I know I should be happy that he’s well in this universe, but it’s so weird to see.” He looks like he has more to say, so you let him continue. 

“I have a younger sister too - my…dad I guess you can put it alive here. Although I don’t think he is married to my mom, it's weird nonetheless because I have a sister. A sister, possibly a step-mom...but he and my uncle are a part of a bigger, wealthier family.” “Do you ever think of speaking to them?” You ask Peter. He freezes, but shakes his head in response. 

“No way! I have the Bats chasing me as is, I can’t have anyone else get close to me and get hurt.” You nod in understanding. You think for a moment. Without any hesitation, you ask, “What’s their name?”

“My uncle… his name here is Jason Peter Todd.” The name does not ring a bell for you. “My dad - his name -” Peter gets cut off from talking. There’s a sharp knock on your door. Peter looks frightened, immediately standing up and going inside the kitchen. He stays hidden as you go check who's at the door. 

You see Dick on the other side. He’s holding flowers as he adjusts his work uniform carefully. He looks…happy, excited. 

You open the door carefully. His smile widens, seeing you had never failed to brighten up his day. 

“Hi.” He says breathlessly, looking at you with mirth and joy in his eyes. He tries to step inside, but falters when you don’t move. 

He says your name carefully, but still, with love. “What’s wrong, my love? Did something happen?”

“Sorry, Richard. Now isn’t a good time.” You see him tense with the lack of his nickname, “I have a guest over. And I - I don’t think right now is a good time for us.”

Dick - Richard’s face falls. He’s confused, you can tell. “I’m sorry? Is everything okay? What about us?”

“Things are…different right now, Richard. I don’t think I can see you anymore. You can come by whenever you want for your stuff, but I think we should break up.”

You see Richard’s eyes widen. You see the arms with flowers droop. He doesn’t understand. What was going on? Break up?

“Break up? Why? What happened? Last week we…we were talking about getting married, baby.” 

“It isn’t a good time.” You repeat. “Please, leave me alone Richard. You…go back to your family. Whatever we have, it’s not worth it.” 

“Did my siblings come meet you? Whatever they said, please, ignore them. They do not get to decide who I date.” Richard pleads, he’s desperate.

 You take a deep breath, “I saw you. Richard, you have a daughter. I’m not fucking up your relationship. Children are...They’re everything to me. I won’t let you ruin someone so fragile.” You go to close the door on him.

“Goodbye, Richard.”

Closing the door on the man shedding tears for you. You closed the door on a relationship you thought would be your second chance of loving. You stupidly thought you deserved love. 

You turn to apologize to Peter. He’s on the floor of your bathroom, eyes wide in shock. He looks at you, his eyes conveying his emotions clearly. 

“That…that was my dad. Richard Grayson. Richard Parker.” Peter’s voice shakes, “Oh my god you’re dating my dad.”

“Was,” You say carefully, “I was. I didn’t know he had a family.”

“I’m..I’m sorry.” Peter mutters. 

⋆｡°✩

“What did you tell her?” Dick barges into the Bat Cave - he sees Tim, who freezes in his seat. Tim looks around carefully and sees Damian pause his sparring with the dummies. 

“Tell who?” Tim wrinkles his nose, clearly confused at Dick’s hostility.

Dick says your name, and at that moment, he sees both Tim and Damian avert their gazes. 

“Look-Look! I didn’t tell her anything. I…I was just keeping tabs on her from afar.” Tim raises his hands in defense, “I wouldn’t go near her otherwise. I’ve never spoken to her before. I was just curious about the woman you were spending your free time with!”

“We were - we were on the brink of being engaged. Just last week we were talking about it. All of a sudden she - she breaks up with me?” Dick’s voice cracks. “I - we were happy. We are happy. I don’t - She wouldn’t have done this without someone meddling in my relationship.”

“Tch,” Damian scoffs, “This is the best, Richard. Was she even aware you have an offspring?”

“Did you threaten her?” Tim, although the behavior was expected from Damian, was still shocked. “No way. You demon! This isn’t your relationship to be messing up!”

“Was she, Richard?” Damian ignored Tim, opting to only stare at Dick. 

“I- I was going to tell her eventually. I didn’t know how I was going to bring up Mar’i and Kory. She doesn’t even… I haven’t told her about Nightwing.”

“And you shouldn’t,” another voice enters the conversation. “It is a necessary evil, but we have other matters to attend to.” Bruce - no. 

Batman stands in the entrance of the Batcave. Tim straightens up in his seat, “Red Robin, report."

“I- sightings of Spider-Man have decreased recently. Usually, he’s seen in the daylight with Signal and he’s been patrolling near Red Hood’s territory in the night. After the Joker’s recent breakout in Arkham, he hadn’t been seen since.” Tim effortlessly pulls out recordings of Spider-Man, “We’ve narrowed down the possibility that he doesn’t have a home - possibly on the run. Sorry, he just…reeks. Anyways, his last sighting was near these apartment complexes.” 

Tim zones in one in particular - Dick pales, noticing the familiar apartment he frequented every week to visit you. The apartment complex he would sneak into when you were sound asleep. He would let himself in with the keys you had given him. You would wake up with him by your side. He recalls one day, where you noticed the bruising on his cheek. 

He opts to ignore his feelings - now wasn’t the time. 

“But, we’ve also noted that Nightwing’s look-a-like has now been residing in that very same apartment. Oracle and I, we have been doing our own research on Nightwing’s past relationships - sorry. But none seem to match up with Parker’s age. Red Hood said the kid told him he was twenty-two, but he’s at least eighteen. That is impossible because you would have been eight.”

Tim pauses, seeing everyone take in his words. Despite the battle going on in everyone’s heads, he continues, “Look, I know we wanted this to only be between us. But…I spoke to The Flash about it. He’s more well versed in this.” “What do you mean this?” Dick questions, "What do you think is going on?”

“I…I think Parker is from the future. In some way, he was sent back in time. I’m unsure on when he is…conceived, but all the signs point to this. I can’t stress this enough, but we need to find a way to get him back to the exact time he left. The Flash has already warned me of the possibilities of him staying.”

“Do you think - Do you think he could be the son of…her and I? It could be possible right?”

Damian wrinkles his nose, as Tim responds back, “We can mark her as a possibility.” “No, it’s definitely her. She’s the - I only want to be with her.” “Doesn’t seem like she wants to be with you,” Damian remarks. 

“Red Robin, try to find more information about Parker. If he’s staying in that apartment complex, it is likely he made contact with her.” Batman walks towards the exit, “Seeing how he is frequenting the same apartment complex as her, we can’t be sure he’s told her anything of his existence here.”

⋆｡°✩

Peter sneezes. 

He’s inside your bakery. You have been giving him an allowance - while he did not think he deserved it, he took it wordlessly to save. He was saving it in case anything happened. 

He looks at the drink he ordered. He’s quiet as he listens to the conversation drone on inside as he watches you work quietly at the front. He was part-time here, with you. Thankful that today was his day off, he had decided to wait until you were out to go grocery shopping with you.

Things have been quiet. Ever since he paused on being Spider-Man, for the sake of healing and finally getting proper care, he’s almost ready to go out again. 

He hears the door open. His spidey senses hum under his skin as the new customer walks closer to him. He sees you pause in your track, looking on quietly. 

“Hey,” He recognizes the voice immediately. Looking up, he shares a nod with Jason. “Hi Mr. Todd.”

Jason sighs, exasperated, “Kid, I’ve told you. Call me Jason.”

“Can’t do that, Mr. Todd, it goes against everything my uncle taught me.” He sees Jason tense in the corner of his eyes, but he’s set on ignoring anything mentioned. 

“Oh yeah? What did he teach you?” “To respect the elderly, of course.”

Jason coughs out a laugh, looking at Peter with pure humor in his eyes. It’s reminiscent of the way his Aunt used to look at him. 

“The usual?” He hears you walk up to Jason and him, a kind smile on your face. Jason pauses, looking her over. Recognition shines in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Uh- yeah. You remember?” Jason questions. 

“Of course, Mr. Todd,” you tease, “I remember all my regular’s orders. Right, Peter?”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

He’s never told anyone in this world - his first name wasn’t privy to anyone. He’s always gone by Parker. From the beginning, when Red Hood first caught him on a rooftop, he introduced himself as Parker. From the moment he met Jason in an alleyway, where he was ironically saved by the guy from muggers, he went by Parker. 

His name tag here was Parker. 

“Peter? Is that your first name, kid?” Jason questions carefully. You stayed, your eyes wide as you mouthed an apology to Peter. Peter nods carefully. 

“Yeah - I um. My name’s Peter. Peter Parker.” 

“Hm,” Jason responds. He couldn’t help but wonder. Was Peter named after him? Was his relationship with Dick in the future so mended that Dick’s son was named after him? He looks at you in response, now gesturing your question to you. “And you? What’s your last name?”

You introduce your full name to him, reaching out to shake his hand. His eyebrows furrow in response, as he looks back and forth to you and Peter. “Huh. Thought you were both related.” Confusion is etched on both your faces. From your perspective, you and Peter looked nothing alike. He held a resemblance to Richard, but you knew full well that other aspects of him were from his mother. 

“No, just a caretaker for him.” You respond instead, ruffling Peter’s hair fondly. 

Peter smiles at you as you walk away. Jason watches on silently. You were so motherly to Parker, it is undeniable you held a maternal role for the kid.

“What brings you here, Mr. Todd?”

Jason smiles at Peter, “Just visiting Peter. Look, come closer.” Peter leans in as Jason lowers his voice, “Your boss. She was dating my brother. Dick, remember him?” He watches Peter nod, “Yeah so, I heard there was some miscommunication between them.”

“You mean the fact that he has another family and was dating her at the same time?” Peter questions. 

“Yeah - no look kid. Yes, he has a kid with someone else. But they’re not together. They’ve been separated for years. He- Dick is super and I mean super in love with your boss or caretaker or whatever you think of her.”

“Are you trying to be a wingman right now?”

“Basically yes. Dick’s been spending his free time with me. That’s not a good thing. A guy needs space. I need space.” Jason sighs, giving a quick thanks to Natasha who drops off his sandwich and drink. “Can you do me a favor? Can you explain to her what I just told you? Or atleast, ask her to respond to Dick.” Peter is hesitant, looking at you in the corner of his eyes. You're taking the order of another family. Looking fondly at the twins on the table, he watches your eyes fill with mirth. 

“I don’t know if I can. Mr. Todd, she’s been through a lot. I don’t know if another heart break should be in her future.” “What do you mean, kid?” Jason glance at you, who was still conversing happily with the mom in front of her. He sees you holding one of the twin’s in your arms, bouncing them happily. 

“She - She’s just been through a lot. I know Mr. Grayson’s your brother, but…I don’t think it’s the right time. Even then, I think he should speak to her first.”

He sees Jason deflate, groaning as he takes a bite of food. Peter apologizes, although he doesn’t feel quite bad that he denied his request. 

⋆｡°✩

You hear your name called. Almost breathless, in the way a lover would call out. You're picking up groceries after you close the bakery. Peter was in the ice cream section, away from the man in front of you.

Richard Grayson was the whole embodiment of a man in love. He looked as if he found the one thing he was searching for. It was correct, he had found you. He looked at you breathlessly, almost as if he ran to come see you. 

“Hey - How have you been?” Richard questions, moving closer to you when he noticed you did not step away. You place the item you had in your hands carefully in the cart. 

“It’s been well, how about you?” You question, moving your cart forward. He follows along, almost nervous to lose sight of you. 

“It could be better.” 

You hum in response, moving to grab the next item. You survey the ingredients, but put it down once you realize it contained the one thing Peter could not digest. 

“Right now isn’t the correct time or place to talk about us,” Richard begins, looking hesitant, “But, I do want you to know. I’ve never cheated on you or Kory. Kory - she’s the mother of my child, Mar’i, but we’re not together.” 

You pause to give him a look. Raising your eyebrow, you shake your head, “You’re right, Richard. Right now isn't the time or place to do this.” You sigh, catching eyes with Peter who was staring from across the aisle. He was frozen, looking at Richard and back at you. 

“I think…I’m free tomorrow, in the afternoon, if you want to talk. But please understand, I hold no negative feelings towards you.” 

Richard takes a deep breath, “Okay. I can do tomorrow.” He follows your line of sight, his breathing halting when he makes eye contact with Parker. “Do you - Do you know Parker?”

“Yes,” you respond simply, “He was my guest from the other day. Permanent guest, he’s staying with me.”

He nods, his shoulders drooping when he notices how hesitant Peter was to come towards him. When Parker is near, he gives Richard a soft greeting as he places some items in the cart. 

You bid goodbye to Richard. He watches from afar as Parker walks ahead of your cart, pulling it along with you.

He hoped it was true. He truly hoped Parker was the son he has with you in the future.

⋆｡°✩

“Thank you for this, you won’t regret it.” Dick smiles, happy to see you near him. “I’m sorry for not communicating with you properly, I’m sorry.” 

You stir the drink in your hand, tapping on the side rhythmically. “I don’t understand why you would keep them hidden from me. Richard, I’d never judge you for this. Truly.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richard repeats, “I- not many people take well of me being a single father. I trust you, I do, but I was scared of what you would think.” 

You stayed quiet, taking everything in. Looking at the side, to the window, you watch as the sun begins to go down. “I…I haven’t been honest either.” 

"Family is a big thing to me, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of, Richard.” You are a liar. Truly. For a moment - just a moment, you had almost told him of the lives you had lost. But - was it truly something you had lost? Did it count? They weren't from here, you knew this. You weren't from here. They didn't exist.

Your voice shakes, looking at Richard sadly, “Family is the biggest reason why I’m still here, I yearn to have one. When I thought you were being…unfaithful to another, it hurt.” 

You sigh, shaking your head, “I’m projecting, I apologize. But I didn’t want to be the reason for a broken family.” 

“You won’t,” Richard promises, reaching out his hand to hold your own that were still shaking, “I’ve spoken to Kory. She’s ecstatic that I have you. I hope to continue to have you as my most cherished loved one alongside Mar’i, if you’d have me again.” 

“Dick…” You whisper, looking at him wistfully, “There is so much you don’t know.”

“I understand that, I do."

“What is grief if not love persevering.” You smile, Dick shifts closer to you, leaning his forehead on yours. He smiles at you. A weight is lifted off his shoulders, seeing you accept him back into your life.

“We start slow. If there’s anything I should know, you don’t need to tell me now, but please, don’t let me find out some other way.” Dick nods in agreement.

The moment was broken when his phone started vibrating maniacally on the table. He knew his phone was silenced from any notifications. It had to be important. Picking it up, he reads through the alert. You see his eyes widen in worry.

“Dick? What’s going on?” You question him as he abruptly stands up.

“I’m so sorry, all forces are being sent downtown… Spider-Man just appeared again and there’s orders to subdue him by any means necessary. The GCPD have been trying to get him, and I think today is that day.” 

“Why him?” You question Dick as he moves towards the door, “He’s just a kid, don’t hurt him.” 

“I’m sorry.” At this rate, he was unable to defy the words of Batman himself.

⋆｡°✩

Peter was scared. He was scared. It was dark, but he knew that his fights with all the Bats combined had left him renderless. Tricked by their plan, he had thought he would only be seeing Red Robin today. How wrong he was.

He leans down on his knees, heaving from the bruises on his rib. He had difficulty breathing and he hoped nothing was punctured.

It’s okay. Everything’s okay. 

His senses alert him to a presence behind him. He’s tired, but he stills when he hears the familiar click of a gun. The smell from the man behind him increased - he was angry.

“What have you done now, you brat,” The man utters, poking Peter’s head with the gun. “I’ve warned you to leave. I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything but he tenses once more when he hears the signs that there was more. More people watching.

“Hood, stand down.” A voice calls out, “He won’t do anything stupid, he knows he’s surrounded.” Nightwing sighs, as he crouches in front of Peter’s masked face. 

He hears someone else scoff, “Foolish to let your guard down.” Robin stands behind Nightwing, alongside Red Robin who observes quietly. 

He notices two other figures in the dark, waiting as backup.

“Batman will arrive shortly. ETA five minutes, keep Spider-Man there.” 

He tenses at the voice coming from Nightwing’s comms, and he knows that Red Robin noticed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” He weakly argues, “We’ve been working alongside each other for ages. Please.” 

“Batman doesn’t allow unknown meta’s in Gotham City.” Robin responds instead, “We do not know your identity, therefore you are a threat.” 

“I- I haven’t hurt anyone.” Peter weakly responds, he’s losing his vision. He knows this. But he has to do something. He knew he had the abilities to do something. Act quickly Peter.

Watch out! 

His senses override as he tumbles away from the shot Red Hood aims at his legs. The bullet narrowly misses him. He’s at the edge now, as his body sluggishly moves against the others who surrounded him once more. 

It’s okay.

His senses begin to hum, zoning in on the emotion that had begun to overpower him. Someone else was coming - he knew it all too well. His ally was here. He felt safe. He’s safe. He knew. He didn’t have to fight anymore. 

Red Hood raises his gun once more as the others tell him to stand down. Their words mush together as he feels the pain begin to dull. 

Before Red Hood could shoot his leg, his gun flew out of his grip. Red consumes his vision, as he doubles down in pain. The green inside of him is overpowered by an unknown entity. He can’t see. He’s in so much pain. Memories flash against his eyes - the entity was pulling at his memories, forcing things he did not want to remember out. He sees everything. He sees his pain. 

He knows Nightwing is near. The memories of Dick Grayson consume him. His brother. His first meeting. The small moments they had together. Everything was pushing against his brain and it hurt so bad.

“Ah. I understand now,” He hears a familiar voice utter softly.

The pain disappears. He takes a gasp of fresh air. When his vision returns, all he sees is you.

You stand in front of Spider-Man, tilting your head in a direction that makes Jason’s whole body freeze up. He hears Dick utter your name, shocked to see you right in front of him.

You. It was you. Still dressed in the same clothes you met Dick Grayson in, stared at them. Your eyes are tinged with red, as well as your fingertips. 

Effortlessly, your hands move. The two figures watching move towards the group, red engulfing their beings. Red Robin and Robin alike are on their knees, red consuming them as well. 

You had only left Dick Grayson alone.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You mutter softly, staring at Dick with pure sadness. “Don’t let me find some other way.”

He utters your name, but he is pushed to the floor. Red overrides his eyes, he feels a pressure against his chest that he cannot remove.

"Hello? Is anyone there - Batman's ETA is - hello-" They hear Oracle scream. Their comms are cut short.

How easy it was to get through to her.

They hear Spider-Man call your name as well. But he did not sound afraid - he sounded relieved.

You carefully walk towards Spider-Man, crouching down to his level, you sigh softly, "They never let you rest do they." You pat his masked head - he leans into you as he sniffs. He is in pain, but for a moment, he rests.

The others, despite the intense pain they are experiencing are gobsmacked at the both of you. You - how you held Spider-Man like how a mother held their child. Red Hood's breathe hicks when he notices you look up at them all.

"What you are all experiencing...it is his pain encompassing your own." You direct to them and somehow, your smile is still soft. "I do apologize, for how abrupt I came." You sigh once more, tapping your cheek, "But once I heard from Richard - of all people that Spider-Man was to be captured. Well. I just had to do something."

You hear another arrive at that point. Your smile widens, staring at the big bat. Batman, as quiet as ever, surveys the others on the floor. But, instead of attacking, he too sits calmly. Too calmly.

When the others look, they see the red.

He too, was stuck. No matter how much he fortressed his own mind. He was not prepared for you. Nobody here will ever truly be prepared for everything you entail.

"I've tried," You mutter to Spider-Man softly, "I really tried to live a happy life here. But once again, I've been pulled back into a world with heroes." You sneer the last word towards the vigilantes who stiffen at your words.

"I was okay with accepting one hero. Spider-Man was fine, I knew him once before - I've watched him grow." You step towards Nightwing, shaking your head. "I accepted you into my life. Richie Wayne. I was warned about you - but I should have read this-" you jab at his head angrily, "from the beginning."

"I do not enjoy being lied to. The exact opposite, really. Heroes - or vigilantes should I say, are prone to being liars after all, so I should have expected it."

You hear Nightwing call your name. He was fighting against your hold so earnestly. "Please- don't do anything drastic. My-my love please, I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you-please." He whimpers, his head sagging from the pain consuming him.

Before you are able to respond, everyone present hears a hypnotic hum. The red consuming them tilts their head forward, towards the body of another woman floating towards them.

She continues to hum, as if she has not spoken for ages. Her dark silhouette, as beautiful and ethereal as ever continues her descent. She smiles, ever so softly. She murmurs, small, yet various whispers bring a calm to the ones present.

The Scarlet Witch, smiles hypnotically at the Bats. She skims her way through them, releasing them from their holds.

You hear the gasps of breaths they all take, but none move an inch. Red Hood shakes in his fervor, the greens coming back in full force. Red Robin shivers, holding himself closely as Robin, who fought effortlessly, leans to take full gasps of air.

"Ever so lucky, you vigilantes are." You mutter, as the Scarlet Witch returns to you from her venture to the Batcave - after all, she had found Oracle herself.

"It is time to go," You usher Spider-Man along, "They will hurt you no longer, my child."

And as it was once, you look back at Nightwing. "You will regret this until the end of your time. If you come for him again, I will not hesitate to ruin you." You smile.

Then in a quiet whisper, you are gone.

This moment, as all others where they've done this exact thing - of capturing Spider-Man over and over again will be forgotten. It was only this time, when you included yourself in the equation.

⋆｡°✩

Richard Grayson will search. He will search. But not for Spider-Man, whose sightings have been caught again and again. Despite the orders given by Batman, he only searched for one person. The rest of his family, although they were confused, also stopped their own search for Spider-Man - they felt weird to do so.

You.

He searched for you. His love. The one he wanted to spend his own life with. But, his endeavors were fruitless - anywhere he went, all he was met with confusion.

Nobody knew who you were. The coffee shop you frequented, the grocery store you went on and on about because of their sales. Your bakery, had been renamed under Natasha, who had been so confused when he asked for you.

"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone who works here with that name." Natasha smiles, "But, I can feel free to take your order."

Mar'i, as excited as ever to be spending time with her father, rattles out her own order in excitement. Natasha turns to him, as he provides the order he knew was your favorite.

He sighs, walking out of the bakery. It had been weeks, and even his family, who had experiences your powers first hand, had no clue who he was talking about. Even once, Tim had went up to him, handing him an un-named folder that even he was confused about. "I think I was doing this for you."

He sighs, as he continues down the street.

Mar'i is walking ahead of him, jumping over cracks to 'avoid breaking her mothers back.' He watches her, unaware of his surroundings.

When a women walks by him, his whole body tenses. The overwhelming scent of you is pushed forth. Whether it was your own natural scent or the perfumes - even his own colognes that you used, he would recognize you. He turns, eyes wide as the woman continues walking.

He recognizes the familiar figure - he calls out your name. He watches you pass and turn. He loses his breath when he sees you. His love. He knew it was you from the moment you locked eyes.

You smile and you wave. Another person blocks his vision and once they moved - you were gone.

He must have been seeing things.

"Daddy?" Mar'i questions, now next to him as she bunches his pant leg in her hands, "Who was that?"

At that moment, he knew. He knew you were real.

And he will find you.

Till death did its part.

[ohholydyke]

Notes on Grief

Capitalism requires endless production, endless movement, endless consumption and endless productivity. If you are not at work, society says, then you ought to be productive on your own projects, conducting your basic survival tasks such as sleeping and eating, or engaging in some form of consumerism (shopping, bars, movies, park tickets, and so many other forms of fun which arrive at a price tag). Places and moments without buying and selling, where you can just exist unproductively—that is, without working to produce a commodity or carrying out basic survival—are few and far in between. Hobby culture dwindles, cities become barred by privatization and unwalkable infrastructure, and scrolling on socials feeds the machine (after all, we are the source of monetization, and our attention is lucrative). We are bombarded with advertisements and products and imperatives for more more more. I crave an escape from this even as I cannot help but be sucked in, and this is by design. You cannot opt out of capitalism’s linear productive, a time of the assembly line, and survive.

I crave stillness. I crave pockets in which I may simply Be. Where I may sit and listen to the wind as it speaks to me.

As I write this, I can hear the cry of mourning doves. Small, brown and white little birds with a distinctive wailing call from which their name arises. Their other common name is turtle doves. Their Navajo name is hasbídí tibágígíí, according to Wikipedia at least. Acknowledging them in the native tongue of one of the peoples to whom this land belongs feels more honoring than English, though I cannot pronounce it properly or parse any deeper meaning. Perhaps that is part of what the doves mourn for, alongside their extinct cousin the passenger pigeon. I wish I knew their name in the languages of the native tribes whose lands I currently stand on as a displaced settler. Then perhaps I could afford them the dignity of being called by their name as it would be recognized here. In Nheengatu, the language of my grandfather and our ancestors that I am desperately trying to relearn, the closest literal translation I know of is xiúsára. Chorador. Crier. Picuí, meanwhile, means dove, so Picuí-xiusára. Crier dove. Speaking in Nheengatu feels like a prayer. Finding it and a workable dictionary feels like a miracle. I would love to find a teacher one day. In another world, it would have been a first language to me. I, too, mourn for what was lost. In this sense, I stand in solidarity with the mourning dove.

Following the way of Saint Francis and the animist in me who recognizes God’s hand in all creation, I turn to the mourning dove for guidance and teaching. Like many of us, their homes are precarious, maintained only through love and dedication. Monogamous and pair-bonded, the mourning doves construct their nests and coordinate nesting shifts so as to split the load of rearing their young, who always emerge in pairs. The mourning doves always maintain multiple intimate ties, always in proximity to each other. They roost communally and breed large families, allowing them to survive in harsher periods of scarcity, hunting or predation. They build community and move together, commuting in and out of the roost collectively, like a commune of friends and family. They are plentiful here. The birds all sing loudly for the storm to come, greeting it as it arrives. I whisper my own greeting to the approaching clouds, and for a moment a shot of lighting on the horizon flashes in response. The mourning dove’s call attracts mates and coordinates the group, it also (like many birds) signals the approaching storm. The Cherokee saw them as harbingers of peaceful rains. The gentle wind seems to confirm this. Peace-bringers.

Grief disrupts assembly line time. It does so practically—bereavement, days off for funerals, depression that locks you away from productivity–but it also does so temporally. Grief keeps us present in the now of absence, acutely feeling what it is to Be without something or someone. Simultaneously, it launches us into the past before that absence, in which connections and emotions are relived and longed for over and over again. We even feel it in our bodies, slumping under mental and physical responses to loss. Acknowledging loss forces you to acknowledge change and the pain which results from it, disrupting the narrative of endless constant upon which capitalism stakes its claim to ceaseless production, growth and profit. If things can change, then the system is not inevitable or eternal. If they are not endless, we must reconsider a philosophy of growth for the mere sake of growth. If we grieve, we start to wonder what life will be like in the absence of what we took for granted. To capitalism, this means danger.

Perhaps that is why so many Americans have forgotten how to grieve. After a few days, people are expected to get over it and get back to work. Depending on the loss, there is a limited period before people’s sympathy ends. We are expected to grieve as quickly, quietly and individually as possible, and to never return to that space after. As if acceptance signifies placing grief on a shelf to be forgotten and gather dust (the five stage model itself inaccurately suggests that grief possesses linearity, in reality the stages are not always sequential, can repeat, occur out of order, vary in duration and do not encompass the whole range of grief).

What would it mean to refuse such barriers—to become Xiúsára, criers, mourners—not as a momentary experience but as a way of Being? To find ourselves in the shifting past and present now of absence, to cede linearity to mourning and reckon with change, with lack, with what was, is not, and could yet be? What if, like the mourning dove, we took up our cries regularly in search of connection, kinship, and community? What if through our cries we herald the peaceful rains, which may nourish us and our environment and wash away the filth of our systems of endless extraction? To find identity and care in mourning and, in doing so, access a different time and a different place in which we may finally sing and be still.

I stay out until the storm draws too close for comfort, then return inside. As soon as I close the door I am separated from the wind and the bird cries. I feel their absence immediately. Rather than move on, I sit with this absence and allow myself to grieve the separation between us and nature created by capitalist colonialism, just as I grieve for my people’s tongue and community. I think I will sit here a while longer, alongside the mourning dove, until I am forced to return inside, back to the temporality of the assembly line. Join me, if you wish. There is love and community here as we wait for the peaceful rains.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

'anla - part seven

Series Masterlist Summary: The next generation is getting ready to complete their Iknimaya. Ao'nung and Y/n aren't exactly hiding, but people are finally noticing. Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader Warnings: Mature language, overprotective parent, heated arguments, heated gazes (in a sexy way), fluff, coming of age, mentions of mating, mentions of drowning and death, etc posted on ao3 Word Count: 8k+ Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic Na'vi Words: Marui - house/pod, ilu - plesiosaur like animal, tulkun - whale like animal, skxawng - moron, akula - shark like animal, olo'eyktan - clan leader, ma'yawntu - my love, paskalin - honey, syulang - flower, tìyawn - love, tsahik - spiritual leader, tswin/kuru - queue braid, tsakarem - tsahik in training, tsurak - skimwing, ikran - mountain banshee, tsaheylu - the bond, swoa - intoxicating beverage, oel ngati kameie - I See you, ma'yawntutsyìp - my darling, nantang - viperwolf, ma'ite - my daughter, taronyu - hunter Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @bangtanxberm @aonungmyaddiction @lv9su @aisselasstuff @yourusername1 @amortencjja @king-julian6201 @gg-trini @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @mikeyswifie @heart-an0n @iloveavatar @urdads-gf  @kentfisherswifee6 @sakurayuki8655-blog @ken-zah @nilrilie @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @iovemoonyy @sopluto @frvv A/N: Two chapters in just two days??? Anyway, like I said the last chapter, I had to split my writing into two parts since it was getting to be over 10,000 words, so here is the next part!

The trip back to the village was a quiet one, Y/n's mind still reeling about her conversation with Neteyam. Jake thankfully didn't ask and acted as a pillar of strength when they returned home. He made one look at Neytiri and she opted out of saying anything, gladly letting her husband and her daughter return to the marui but not before she held them both in her arms out of relief that things would be alright between them. Y/n went to bed early, exhausted from all of the events of the day that resulted in the grief come bouncing back. If she woke up in the middle of the night to find herself in a cuddle pile of both Na'vi and human siblings, she didn't mention it, and none of the Sullys made any comments the following morning. Everyone was just happy that bonds were mending and hearts were healing. They were one step closer to feeling like a family again.

Lo'ak was visibly more comfortable walking beside Y/n that morning, knowing that she and their father had talked, and was happy to no longer walk on eggshells around either of them. Y/n appeared more relaxed as well, despite receiving some odd-looking glares from nearby Metkayina girls. To ignore the stares and lighten the mood a little more, Y/n shoved her little brother into the water before he could even blink. The resulting splash sent Y/n laughing and Lo'ak sputtering when his resurfaced, vowing revenge. It was then that Ao'nung and Rotxo showed up, grinning down at Lo'ak's predicament while standing beside Y/n.

"Quit messing around, Lo'ak," Ao'nung teased good-naturedly, "We got work to do today."

Lo'ak frowned, slightly embarrassed but summoned an ilu for himself. The other teens do the same and they head out to work, all the while Rotxo explains today's task to the Sully children, "When training to be a warrior among the Metkayina, you have to ride an ilu to chase away predators that threaten the young."

"Bro, we used ilu to rescue a tulkun and fought against Sky People," Lo'ak retorts, "I think that should count."

"He's got a point," Y/n added, "I think we rescued plenty of our young doing that."

Lo'ak squints his eyes in his sister's direction, "I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not."

"Figure it out, skxawng."

"It is all about tradition," Ao'nung explained, "I am sure the Elders would appreciate us keeping up with old traditions despite we have done enough to become warriors ten times over already despite our young age."

"So we're only doing this to impress a bunch of old people?" Lo'ak questioned with an added groan, getting splashed by Y/n in the process.

"Lo, for someone who just tries to fit in--"

"I know, I know," he waved her off half-heartedly.

"I'd like to see you talk that way to Grandmother."

A bit of color drains from Lo'ak's face, but otherwise he says nothing. Ao'nung laughed as they leisurely swayed in the water, leaning over in Lo'ak's direction, "They say that the Elders see and hear all. I would watch my back if I were you, Lo'ak te Suli. Maybe make a necklace for them as an apology."

Y/n laughs while Rotxo's smile slowly turns up into a mischievous grin, eyeing Ao'nung while opening his mouth, his eyes all-knowing, "Speaking of necklaces, that is a very nice arrowhead, Y/n. Akula?"

Ao'nung spun to glare at Rotxo in warning while Y/n briefly pressed a finger to the arrowhead she had yet to take off. She quickly retracts her touch and pointedly doesn't look at Rotxo, "Yes, thank you."

By now, Lo'ak is also staring at the necklace, eyes widening each time his brain puts another piece of the puzzle together, head tilting to Ao'nung, then Y/n, then back again. Rotxo could see Lo'ak's realization slowly dawning on his face and decided not to let up for the sake of teasing his friend, "Did you make it? Or was it given to you?"

"The necklace is mine... the tooth was a gift."

"Oh? From who?" Rotxo's big eyes practically sparkle with mirth, staring directly at Lo'ak as he adds, "You know, speaking of tradition, usually when a Na'vi gifts another something as special as that, it means they are courting--"

"I think we should split up on our patrol," Lo'ak abruptly states, briefly glaring daggers at Ao'nung while urging his ilu forward to swim beside Rotxo, "As I am about ready to strangle both of you, I will be going with Rotxo."

"Sure," Ao'nung shrugged, "Meet back here around midday?"

"Alright. See ya then."

Ao'nung and Y/n watch Lo'ak and Rotxo speed their ilu up and swim away, jumping in and out of the water before disappearing on the horizon. The pair waits until they are completely alone before Y/n flashes a side-eye glance in Ao'nung's direction, "You told Rotxo?"

"I didn't tell him anything," he defends, "But practically everyone has been asking. They all probably know."

"Yeah... 'Teyam used to tease me about it." She smiled sadly at the memory.

"Did he? I was so sure he would have killed me."

"No, he was the brother you didn't have to worry about," she huffed a small laugh, "Lo'ak and Spider on the other hand... well, you've been punched by the one before, and Spider might be more level-headed but you have never seen him truly angry."

A small glimmer flashed in Ao'nung's eyes, a wave of respect for the human boy washing over him, "That's intriguing."

She snorts quietly, her eyes returning to the spot where the other pair of teenagers disappeared, "I'm pretty sure Lo'ak has known about us for a while, maybe before I even knew there was an 'us.' So I wouldn't worry about him. He's just acting like a child."

She raises an eyebrow when Ao'nung emits a small growl, "Maybe your brother should worry about me if what I heard about him and Tsireya is true."

"Oh, please. They have been fond of each other since the day they met, don't act like you didn't notice." Y/n rolled her eyes.

"I am going to kill him."

"You will do no such thing if you know what's good for you," she glared dangerously back, though Ao'nung noted that it was not as heated or as threatening as her usual glares, "You cannot hate him for seeing your sister and then turn around to see his. Besides, I think your mother doesn't mind it after she and I talked that one time we were foraging. She heard my side of things and I think she actually approves of Lo'ak and Tsireya now."

Ao'nung goes back to that day when he found Y/n and his mother walking out of the forest together, his ears sheepishly pinning back against his skull when he remembered what had happened after Y/n had left, "My mother asked about you."

Y/n's eyes widened, "She did?"

"And she tells my father everything, so..."

"Same here. I think our sisters know, but they are not saying anything. They would take it to their grave if we asked them." Y/n smiles to herself.

"It wouldn't matter. This whole village is full of spinsters," Ao'nung snidely comments, "Everyone's business is everyone's business."

He watched as the gears openly turned in Y/n's head, her eyes looking to the sky while she asked, "... Is that why there were girls staring at me down by the docks this morning?"

"I do not know," initially, he shrugs, but she watches as Ao'nung's eyes slowly start to sparkle as his teasing grin reemerges, "Maybe they are jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Of course," he flaunts dramatically, "Jealous that a forest girl from a faraway place managed to steal the future olo'eyktan out from under their noses."

Her scowl immediately pitches into a laugh when he reaches over and briefly grabs her tail. Y/n pulled away from him before he could do it again, still laughing while trying to evade his hand.

They urge their ilu to swim a bit more after that, chasing one another playfully until they get to their next spot for patrol. By the time they got there, Ao'nung noticed that Y/n was staring off into space and looking a little unsure of herself, "What is it?"

Her eyes and ears lower, gaze pointedly staring down at her hands, "We mentioned honoring tradition earlier, then just now you reminded me of your stature. Maybe the Elders wouldn't appreciate the chief's son choosing a forest girl over one of their own."

Ao'nung scoffed, "The Elders don't care about that sort of thing. You are Na'vi. That's all that matters to them."

"But even you didn't think we were true Na'vi," her eyes flick up to his and his blood turned cold under her stare, "Not when we first arrived."

He slouched, ears drooping while his eyes softened into regret, fingers twitching with the need to reach out to her, but remained in his lap, "I was wrong."

"Maybe. But there are others who still think the same way you did. They still look at me, Lo'ak, and Kiri and think we are freaks. I am pretty sure even Tuk has more friends than us because she at least looks Na'vi."

"That is not why she has more friends," Ao'nung tries to smile, "Tuk is Tuk."

Y/n hums to herself, feeling one corner of her mouth twitch at the fond thought of her baby sister, "That's true."

"You..." Her eyes flick back up to Ao'nung when his voice didn't sound very confident. He wouldn't look her in the eyes, clearly feeling out of his comfort zone. She patiently waited for him to speak, occupying herself by watching drips of water fall off his brow or glisten in his hair, the sun reflecting off his wet braids like diamonds. Y/n's chest squeezed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was warm and it was spreading over her like a comforting blanket that her mother would leave beside the fire. Her thoughts are disrupted when Ao'nung finally finds the courage to look up, "You have never once doubted yourself like that. Lo'ak and Kiri sometimes still look at themselves and hate what they see, but not you. You've never doubted yourself, Y/n, so why start now?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not I despise how I look," she carefully answers, feeling small and scrutinized under his disbelieving gaze, "It matters what everyone else would think if they knew you were courting a deformed freak."

"You are not deformed."

"No?" She bitterly questioned, frowning as she lifted up her hand to him, purposely wiggling her pinky finger, "This doesn't freak you out? It is alien."

"So what?" He reached out for her hand, "An extra finger just means there is more of you to hold."

The response stuns her to the point she didn't react when Ao'nung slipped his hand into hers. Looking down, she stared at their joined hands, fingers wrapped around one another in an ornament of two different colors. Looking back, their skin tones complimented each other beautifully together, and the contrast just made sense. Y/n was still amazed about how big Ao'nung's hand was compared to hers, despite being the same age. Once those thoughts vanish, all that's left are Ao'nung's smooth words and the color slowly rising in her ears.

Y/n scoffs, trying to play it off, "Do you think yourself charming?"

Ao'nung grinned, "Only for you, ma'yawntu."

The term of endearment surprises her out of a laugh, playfully horrified, "Eywa, no."

"Paskalin?"

"Stop."

"Syulang?"

"Please, you are embarrassing."

"I got all day, tìyawn." Ao'nung laughed, "What would you like me to call you?"

"How about my name?" She asked sarcastically.

His smile was wide, bright, and downright beautiful. It took all of Y/n's willpower not to melt right then and there, "Of course, Forest Girl. It's what I prefer anyway."

"I'm sure it is, Seaweed Brain."

~~~~~~~~~

Ronal's baby was born in the traditional way, in a water birth ceremony called the First Breath, where the whole clan gathers around in shallow water to celebrate. Now, normally the tsahik would help the mother guide her newborn to the surface to take its first breath, but seeing as Ronal was the one expecting, one village healer and Tsireya were chosen to help her. This was a new kind of ceremony for the Sullys so they hadn't fully participated until after the baby was born, then they proceeded to celebrate with the rest of the Metkayina.

Kailani was a beautiful baby girl and everyone adored her. Nearly everyone wanted to see her and hold her. As the newest baby in the village, she had earned herself a lot of attention and was loved by all, especially her older brother and sister. Ao'nung was little enough that he couldn't remember when Tsireya was born, and Tsireya had always been the youngest, so this was the first time either of the chief's children experienced what it was like to have a new baby in the family... and it showed.

This became obvious a month into Kailani's life when Tuk came out of nowhere and started to drag Y/n and Kiri by their hands toward Ronal and Tonowari's marui, "Come on, come on! I wanna see the baby!"

The teen girls reluctantly follow their little sister, smiling fondly at Tuk's excitement. It was adorable to see that Tuk didn't have much experience with babies either. Approaching the pod, it was obvious neither tsahik nor olo'eyktan was home, and yet there were soft cries coming out of the marui. Tuk drops her sisters' hands and runs in while Y/n and Kiri dutifully follow. Walking inside, they find Tsireya and Ao'nung sitting close together, appearing a little worried and exhausted while looking down at the small baby lying in her big brother's arms. Both of the reef teenagers looked up when they heard someone enter, and Tsireya waved them over, "Have either of you seen our mother?"

Kiri and Y/n exchange a look before the former responds, "She's in the healer's hut. A warrior came in all scraped up from getting thrown against the coral reef."

"What is wrong?" Y/n asked.

"She won't stop crying," Tsireya admits shamefully, looking a little distraught, "We do not know why. We fed and changed her, but--"

"Have my sisters help," Tuk confidently offers without missing a beat, proud at her idea, "They know about babies. They helped Mama take care of me when I was little."

Tsireya and Ao'nung pointedly look up at the older Sully sisters, their eyes desperately pleading. Kiri was initially going to scoff at Tuk for her idea before Y/n wordlessly stepped forward and knelt down in front of Ao'nung. One look and she could tell why Kailani was so upset. Her tiny body wasn't exactly held close to Ao'nung's body but was instead held in his arms and in his lap. It didn't look comfortable and Y/n pitied the child.

"Here," Y/n offered, leaning over and helping Ao'nung adjust his hold on his baby sister, having him lift Kailani up from his lap and making sure he kept supporting her neck, "Babies need a lot of skin-to-skin contact at the beginning of their lives. It helps them bond with their mothers and other members of their family."

Y/n helps Ao'nung lift Kai until she's nestled snugly against his chest, her face protected in the crook of his neck. Almost immediately, the baby calms down, trying to bury her cold little nose into her brother's warm skin. Ao'nung is unable to speak or look away from Y/n, his ears only perking up as a sign he is listening when she keeps on explaining, "Try not to pinch her tswin. Without any hair to protect it yet, the tswin can be extra sensitive."

Kiri smiled softly to herself as Y/n continued to list several things Tsireya and Ao'nung could do, both of them listening with intense determination, all the while Kiri could only think about her older sister. It really was a shame that Y/n didn't want to take on the role of tsakarem, instead passing it along to Kiri when her adopted sister had shown an interest. Y/n still remembered a thing or two about healing from when Mo'at had begun to teach her, but from what Kiri understood, Y/n would get easily distracted and would beg their grandmother to dismiss her so she could go find Neteyam and train alongside him to become a warrior. Mo'at eventually gave in, fondly stating how Y/n was just like her mother, then proceeded to name Kiri her successor.

While Y/n may not like the method of healing and preferred hunting, she was still pretty knowledgeable when it was needed, and as Tuk said, she and Kiri remembered what it was like having a new baby in the family. Tsireya and Ao'nung appeared incredibly grateful for Y/n... but Kiri couldn't help but grin under her hand while looking at the way Ao'nung was staring at her older sister. The way his mouth formed such a secretive smile without the intention of showing it, his eyes subtly falling from Y/n's eyes to watch her lips as she spoke before flicking back up to her eyes before anyone would notice. But Kiri noticed, and she eventually had to look away because she felt as though she was intruding on something so intimate.

Rotxo had told Kiri and Spider about the mysterious arrowhead-shaped tooth that suddenly appeared around Y/n's neck one day, but the adopted Sullys didn't want to believe it. Lo'ak had scoffed, rolling his eyes and refusing to talk about it, but Neytiri had overheard and had this all-knowing smile on her face as she cooked over the hearth when her children walked back into the marui after bidding Rotxo goodnight. Jake and Tuk were none the wiser but Kiri had a feeling that her father was like Lo'ak, trying to ignore that something was clearly going on between Ao'nung and Y/n. Now, it was more obvious than ever.

~~~~~~~~~

While Y/n had not been able to complete all of her rites of passage alongside Rotxo and Ao'nung, she and the other Sully children still cheered them on and celebrated alongside them, especially after watching in amazement to see how a young Metkayina must finish certain challenges alongside their bonded tulkun brother or sister. After finishing those trials, along with taming their own skimwings, Ao'nung and Rotxo were gifted a special article of clothing, their first tattoo as warriors of the clan, and three beads for their songcords. Everyone was proud of the reef boys, now celebrated as young men among their People.

Next was going to be Y/n. She was determined to follow suit, as were Lo'ak and Kiri. They went out to practice for their trials every day, playfully competing with one another. Whilst Kiri was planning on becoming a healer in the tribe, she still wanted to tame a tsurak as her rite of passage and receive a Metkayina tattoo meant to signify healing. Jake and Neytiri were not sure how to feel about three of their children rushing toward adulthood, but they were supportive either way. The older Sully children tried very hard not to exclude Spider in the many training exercises, but he goodnaturedly shooed them away and told them to have fun and train hard. He may not be able to follow them, but he will still cheer them on from the sidelines, being there in spirit.

Lo'ak passed his trial with Payakan with flying colors, and now he and his sisters would move on to taming their own tsurak. Kiri did so with ease, her attachment to Eywa helping her befriend the mighty skimwing instead of mastering it. All of her siblings cheered for her from the docks, watching her disappear to wander with her new friend beyond the sea wall. Lo'ak was determined to go next, and while it looked a little rocky at times, he too, mastered his own warrior's mount, and Jake yelped and whooped proudly for his son. Lo'ak also left the safety of the lagoon to explore with his new friend and likely introduce him to Payakan.

When it was Y/n's turn to go tame a skimwing, Ao'nung approached her and spoke quietly under his breath, "Remember. The tsurak are temperamental creatures. Much like an ikran, you have to work hard to form a strong and loyal bond with them."

"Got it," Y/n nodded in acknowledgment, wrapping leather around her knuckles per her father's advice. Speaking of whom, Jake was approaching his daughter so Ao'nung simply nodded his head toward Toruk Makto and walked away to stand beside his own father.

Jake narrowed his eyes as he watched Ao'nung leave before softening his gaze and speaking down to his firstborn, "You're your mother's daughter. That makes you the best flyer and hunter on an ikran, so this will be a cakewalk for you. Tonowari told me that the ikran and the tsurak share a distant ancestor, so it's easy to see where they get their stubbornness from. You know how to tame stubbornness. You'll be a pro at this."

Y/n tried her very best not to visibly shrink up under her father's advice and praise. She wants to stand tall and proud under his words of affirmation now that they're starting to see eye-to-eye, but it is still a work in progress. She's not used to her father being so encouraging as of late, due to him stressing out over the war, moving away, and losing a son, so it was still a big step that needed adjusting. So, Y/n instead smiled widely up at her father and whispered a small thank you before rushing over to get the tsahik and olo'eyktan's blessing.

Ronal and Tonowari bid Y/n good luck with their own hidden smiles while Tsireya shared her confidence for her friend and lifted Kailani's arm up to wave at the Sully girl for encouragement. Ao'nung flashed his forest girl his own secret smile and a small nod, barely noticeable to the naked eye. Y/n practically beamed and with a new wave of confidence, turned and ran down the long dock to the very end, diving gracefully into the water.

All forms of sealife greet her underwater, her breath held as she forced herself not to get distracted. Since that fateful day against the Sky People, Y/n had been training herself to hold her breath longer, hoping to never have to worry anyone over her drowning ever again, not wanting to be a burden. Without wasting any time, she called out for a skimwing to approach her.

She had managed to find a school of fish Ao'nung told her was the tsurak's favorite snack, so she swam close to the fish and continued to call out, her heart singing when her strategy worked and a familiar beast gradually glided toward her, its powerful, scaled body creating a disturbance in the water. Looking like a Terran gharial, the tsurak approached with purpose and demanded to be respected, other small fish species quickly scattering to avoid it. With its long, sword-like snout, it gave itself personal space, and with its beady, soulless eyes, it analyzed Y/n. For an animal that was nearly domesticated with the Metkayina, Y/n wasn't worried about whether or not the creature deemed her as a threat, but then again, she looked different compared to all the other Na'vi the tsurak likely grew up with, and it was possible the skimwing could smell the part of her that descends from demons.

Y/n didn't take the kind and befriending approach as Kiri did. That form of taming only works for someone as Eywa-blessed at Y/n's adopted sister. Instead, she kept herself between the beast and its likely prey, the schoolfish behind her. The threat was clear. If it wanted to eat, the tsurak would have to go through her first.

The reptilian-looking fish didn't appear insulted by the threat and leisurely swayed side to side, jaw gradually opening and closing to breathe while stuck in place, showing off its small rows of razor-sharp teeth while staring Y/n down and waiting for the right opening to strike. Y/n slowly and carefully pulled her kuru braid over her shoulder all the while keeping her eyes locked on the tsurak. As they continued with this ocean version of a standoff, Y/n gradually began to inch forward, only moving in small, very slow strokes of water.

When she got too close, the tsurak opened its jaws and snapped down, quick as lightning, but Y/n was prepared for it. Much like taming an ikran, she quickly moved out of the way before the creature could bite her head off and, using her knuckles and palms now wrapped in leather, clamped down on the jaws of the creature, keeping it shut with as much muscle she could muster while using her newly found momentum to quickly swim onto the skimwing's back, never letting go. Knowing she would only have a second before the creature was no longer stunned, Y/n let go of the jaw with one hand and quickly grabbed her braid, immediately forming the tsaheylu.

The beast wiggled and then paused, swaying calmly back and forth as the connection was made. With her lungs slightly beginning to burn, Y/n didn't panic but also didn't hesitate to give the creature the order to resurface, now letting her other hand let go of the tsurak's snout in good faith. She promises to let the tsurak eat, later, if he swam up for air.

As quick as a bullet, the tsurak follows its new rider's order, shooting up through the water at great speed. Y/n nearly forgot to hang on tight, clamping her thighs down on the creature's back as tight as she could, her ears beginning to pop at the very sudden water pressure as they rose higher toward the surface. Sunlight was coming in fast and, before she knew it, Y/n was out of the water, leaping through the air, and plunging back into the ocean, all while still holding on tightly to the back of her very own tsurak. The beast resurfaces more gently this time and stays leisurely swimming above the water, giving Y/n much-needed time to breathe. She smiles when she can hear scattered cheering from the beach and docks but keeps on task, trying to stay focused. She has yet to fly with her new ride.

Adjusting her grip on the creature, she gives her new order, clenching her thighs again while preparing for the powerful beast's ascent. The tsurak begins to speed up, faster and faster until it's zipping through the water like a ship. Eventually, it gains enough momentum and the creature lets out its wings, extending them until they begin to catch air, and then the body rises out of the water. Y/n hangs on tight, stamping down the anxiety in her gut, sharing her determination and willpower through her new bond so the skimwing knows she means business. There is no room for failure.

The tsurak doesn't stumble, doesn't break, and doesn't lose focus. As they sail, the pair sails gracefully without a single wiggle or wobble. Y/n can faintly hear cheering in the distance but doesn't let it phase her. One more test. She gives the order and holds her breath, immediately bending down and pressing her body tightly against the creature's back.

The tsurak retracts its wings and points its snout down, briefly falling through the air before diving straight into the water below. The impact and mighty force of it all was much more powerful than riding an ilu, and Y/n had to hold on for dear life. Water rushed through her ears and she squinted her eyes in order to see better, but she held on and she held firmly. She would rather get her arm pulled off than let go, so she held on tighter, her leather wraps doing the trick to give her a better grip. One last order and Y/n feels the pair of them shooting back up through the water and into the air again, and this time, Y/n hoots triumphantly at the top of her lungs, hanging on tightly with one hand but throwing her other fist in the air, her trial complete.

Several people are cheering with her on the beach and in the water. Spider, Tuk, and Jake are whooping and hollering like party animals, ecstatic for their daughter and sister. Ao'nung and Rotxo are cheering alongside them, along with several other Metkayina watching the event. Y/n beams proudly at all of them from a distance, then proceeds to follow Kiri and Lo'ak's lead and head for open waters.

Ao'nung is smiling just as proudly from the beach, and once Y/n takes off, so does he. The chief's son immediately breaks into a sprint down the side of the beach, diving into the water before another word can be said. Once below the surface, he calls for his own skimwing and takes off after the Sully girl.

The only one who appeared to notice Ao'nung slip away was Neytiri, but she appeared to be smiling as she watched the reef boy chase after her daughter. A brief wave of déjà vu washed over her as she watched until she couldn't see either tsurak anymore. She smiled fondly, proud and filled with unimaginable joy as she had witnessed history repeat itself, much like it had with her when she first chased after Jake on their ikran.

The new warriors do not stay out for long. When eclipse comes, Y/n, Ao'nung, Lo'ak, and Kiri return for the Sully children's ceremony. The sunlight disappears and it's replaced with a bioluminescent glow everywhere, as far as the eyes could see. Lo'ak, Y/n, and Kiri stand before Ronal and Tonowari as they are presented with their rewards, their article of clothing, and the beads for their songcords to signify this triumphant milestone of adulthood. The Na'vi believe that every person is born twice and the second time is when a Na'vi finds his or her place among the People forever.

Once Ronal and Tonowari bestow the three Sullys their first tattoos, they were officially one with the Metkayina, marked with warrior and healer ink. Everyone gathered around the new young adults and congratulated them, making room for the parents to squeeze their way through the crowd and finally gather their children up. Neytiri held her children against her, joyous tears in her eyes even as her heart broke, mourning their childhoods but celebrating their futures. Jake held his children just as tightly but didn't make a sound, afraid of what would come out if he tried to talk.

The ceremony gave way to celebration, large bonfires lining up and down the beach, the flames rising high into the night sky, embers blinking down on Eywa's children along with the stars above. The Metkayina dance together in wide circles around the fires, conjoined in several different rings, moving in opposite directions as they sang, talked, laughed, ate, and drank to their hearts' content.  

Y/n found herself dancing around a fire that was shared by most of the newest warriors of the tribe, people around her own age, and her brother and Kiri. There were so many fires along the beach, however, so it would be nearly impossible to find out which ones her other family members were socializing at, hidden among the chaotic crowds of flailing limbs and boisterous songs. She allowed herself to let loose and cared little about what others thought of her, letting the swoa warm her stomach and the fire her skin. She stuck close to Kiri and Tsireya for a short while before the chief's daughter ran off to find Lo'ak. Y/n and Kiri playfully rolled their eyes before the latter decided to turn in for the night-- which is just code for she was going to keep Spider company so their adopted brother didn't feel left out. Y/n let her sister go without complaint, giving her a brief hug and voicing how proud she was of her. Kiri smiled brightly under the praise and took off, leaving Y/n's heart feeling warm as well. Getting roped back into dancing, Y/n danced without a care in the world, not bothered by whether or not she looked bad, and sang with the others until she was breathless. The celebration was getting to be too disorderly with everyone having so much fun that faces had begun to blur and sometimes when people danced, they were spinning too fast to figure out their bearings. 

But Y/n let her feet carry her to her intended destination, and that was right into Ao'nung's arms. With her family elsewhere and other Metkayina having too much fun to otherwise gape at the sight, Y/n danced with the chief's son for practically the whole night, tired and out of breath, but never wanting to stop. She couldn't help it. With the fire lighting one side of his face and the bioluminescent ocean lighting the other, Ao'nung looked ethereal, and Y/n couldn't stop her rapidly beating heart even if she wanted to.  

Ao'nung only looked at her, never caring about who saw them, his smile gentle and eyes proud, not helping the flips Y/n's stomach was taking. Her body felt like it was on fire in the best way possible under his gaze, and maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the liquid courage, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, but her mind was open and her voice was knocked loose from her throat as she pulled her reef boy close to her and whispered so only he could hear the words that she knew, deep down, were only meant for him, "Ao'nung. Oel ngati kameie."

Ao'nung's eyes briefly widened, mouth falling open in shock, yet he couldn't take a breath in. The fire didn't help the blooming fire in the forest girl's yellow eyes, piercing up at his and leaving him breathless, unable to come up for air. She didn't look afraid or even bothered by his reaction, instead, she smiled, a little cheekily, as if she could see just how much she affected him. Slowly, he comes back to his senses, a smile slowly creeping up his lips once more. His hands gently cup both sides of her face, marveling at how her entire head fit perfectly in his palms, while her reasonably smaller hands move to hold his sides, keeping his body close to hers. Ao'nung leans in, taking a small breath in through his nose, memorizing her scent before he gently fits his lips against hers, to which she responds in kind. The kiss tasted like sea salt and swoa, but neither complained, closing their eyes and reveling in their closeness.

Despite her lessons, Y/n regrettably needed to pull away for air, and when the kiss broke, her soft pants ghosted across Ao'nung's skin, hot and prickly, and when her eyes opened, she stared up at him through her eyelashes, cheeks slightly flushed. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to relax his body, his heart racing to the tempo of drums playing somewhere in the crowd. Eventually, his mind clears and he manages to find words again, leaning his forehead into his forest girl's.

"Ma'yawntutsyìp Y/n. Oel ngati kameie."

~~~~~~~~~

Neytiri sees everything when it comes to her children, especially her firstborn daughter. That girl is a spitting image of the mother who birthed her, except for the little human features she inherited from her father, so Neytiri often knew what was going on in Y/n's head because she had been in her daughter's footsteps. Neytiri was young once. She knew what it was like to be in love.

Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite had seen the lingering glances, the stares when the other wasn't looking, and the smiles that were only shared between each other. Furthermore, Neytiri had noticed the arrowhead on Y/n's necklace the second she came home that day, and then the mother noticed Ao'nung anxiously waiting to get out there and chase her daughter into the sea astride their tsurak. And of course, even in the vast crowds lining the beach the night of Y/n's ceremony, Neytiri could see the young pair kissing, unbothered by the amount of people around them. It felt as though no one had seen them but her. 

And yet, she had not said a word. Much like Y/n and Ao'nung's sisters, Neytiri intended to take their secret to the grave if it meant seeing her eldest daughter smile again. Sure, Neytiri was fiercely protective of her children, but she would never refuse her child when it came to whatever made them happy... especially after she had lost Neteyam.

So Neytiri kept quiet and just watched from a distance. Now that three of her children were seen as adults among the Metkayina, their tattoos a physical sign as such, she wasn't gonna go around telling them what to do anymore and just enjoyed their company while it lasted. After all, soon they will choose men or women to be with... and not long after that, Neytiri will find her marui emptier than the day before.

One fateful day, Neytiri found herself alone with Y/n in their family pod, cooking some fish over the fire to prepare meals for the rest of the Sullys to take with them throughout the day. It was a quiet and comfortable morning until Ao'nung showed up, respectfully greeting Neytiri before asking Y/n if she would like to join the other warriors on a hunt that afternoon.

Y/n perked up at the offer, her smile brightening under Ao'nung's gaze. Wordlessly, she nudges Neytiri's shoulder with her forehead, and her mother leans into the touch before the daughter draws away and stands up. Y/n briefly grabs Ao'nung's arm before diving into the water with the intention of having him follow her. Ao'nung stayed a second longer, lingering in the doorway of Neytiri's home when he noticed the woman staring at him. Despite wanting her daughter's happiness, Neytiri also wants her daughter to be safe, so she briefly glares at the chief's son before simply looking back down at her task, "If she gets hurt, I pluck your eyes out."

For some reason, he knew she wasn't talking about the hunting party.

That same night, during communal dinner, Neytiri could see just how obvious Ao'nung and Y/n looked. Instead of sitting with her family, Y/n sat with his, conversing between him and Tsireya without a care in the world. Occasionally, the chief's son would try to sneak a kiss on the forest girl's cheek, hiding it by pretending to whisper in her ear. Y/n would smile shyly, her pinky finger subtly reaching out for his hand whilst she talked to his sister.

This time, Neytiri wasn't the only one who noticed, and she cursed herself for not trying to distract her husband sooner instead of openly gawking at the young pair with him. The moment Ao'nung reached for Y/n's pinky finger, Neytiri could feel her husband tense up beside her. Immediately, she knew what was about her happen once her mate quickly stood up and she was helpless to stop it. 

"Jake--" She had gotten up as well but it was too late. Her mate had already stormed off in the direction of their daughter. Several eyes throughout the communal meal turned in their direction and Neytiri could feel their stares prickling along her back, her other children now aware of something wrong when she stood.

"Mama?" Tuk asked.

The older Sully children immediately clock the situation once they follow their mother's gaze, seeing their father clearly out for blood as he beelines for the chief's family. Spider immediately scrambles to his feet, "Shit--"

Neytiri didn't know whether to hiss at or agree with Spider's observation, her feet taking her to where Jake was going, the rest of her children now standing up to follow her as well, abandoning their meals. Neytiri would not make it in time, but even from where she was, she could hear the commotion already starting when Jake reached down and grabbed Y/n's arm, pulling her to her feet and away from Ao'nung, "Alright, young lady. Time to talk."

"Dad, what--"

Ao'nung immediately rose to his feet without thinking. Neytiri almost pitied him, "Sir--"

Jake's glare fell on Ao'nung, his voice dropping low to a tone only the military side of him could produce, "And you, boy. Did you mate with my daughter?"

"Dad!"

Y/n's exclamation further drew the attention of the tsahik and olo'eyktan, along with even more Metkayina sitting around the growing commotion. Neytiri could see Ronal and Tonowari stand up as well, their eyes only on Jake and their son, dread forming in her gut at the idea of what might happen next. Ronal handed Kailani over to Tsireya and marched with her mate over to the confrontation as Jake continued to talk down to her son. 

"And whatever you say better be the answer I'm hoping for, young man. So choose your words wisely."

Neytiri finally reached her husband and grabbed his arm, opening her mouth to try and get him to calm down while the rest of their children stood around them and simply observed with worried glances. Ao'nung glared only at Jake, his shoulders squared back, and stepped up no doubt to defiantly say something stupid before Y/n stopped him from where she stood behind her father.

"Ao'nung," she warned loudly, to which his eyes flicked to hers at the sound of her voice.

Time stilled as everyone turned to Y/n, waiting to hear what she had to say, even her father. She didn't look at anyone else other than her lover. All Y/n had to do was flatten her ears and just ever so slightly tilt her head, eyes locked on his the whole time for Ao'nung to get the message, loud and clear. His shoulders lower and visibly calms himself under her stare, and in response, Ao'nung merely nods. The young Metkayina backed down, stepping away from Toruk Makto and glancing off to the side, eyes and ears lowered like an injured nantang pup. Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing between Ao'nung and his daughter, trying to figure out what had just happened.

From beside Lo'ak, Kiri silently gasps behind her hand as she whispers to the younger brother, "Oh, my Eywa. He's so whipped for her."

"Bro-- shut up," Lo'ak hissed back, glaring at his sister's tiny amused smile while Spider laughed under his breath.

Jake didn't have time to berate his other children as he shook off his confusion and his wife's arm, letting go of Y/n's bicep but keeping her frozen to the spot under his cold, scrutinizing glare, "Look at me, young lady," she refused at first, eyes flicking elsewhere in shame and fear, "Look at me."

Her frown twitches just as the fear dissipates, her usual distaste for authority returning. Her eyes harden as she purposely and slowly glares up at her father through her eyebrows, her entire posture now defiant and standing strong against him.

Either Jake didn't notice this subtle change in body language or he didn't care, glaring right back at her, "Tell me the truth. It's a simple yes or no. Did you mate with him?"

She flashed her fangs, grinding out her response between her teeth, "No, sir."

"Do you plan on it?"

"I do not see how that is any of your business anymore."

"Y/n, where I'm from, you're still too young to have a family," he points back to Ao'nung without ever taking his eyes off his daughter, "And he is the chief's son--"

"You can't tell me who I can or cannot be with when Mom went against everyone and everything she believed in to be with you," her tone was strong and accusatory, throwing Jake into a state of shock as he nearly stumbles back. Y/n stood strong against her father, her words bold and as destructive as a tsunami wave, "I would not exist if you hadn't gone off and mated with the chief's daughter so don't you dare try to sound as if you are above such scandal." 

"Oh, snap," Spider muttered, earning an elbow to his chest from Lo'ak.

The entire commotion had been driven to silence, everyone waiting with bated breath as to what would happen next. Neytiri felt both fear and pride for her daughter, again, feeling history repeat itself through the eyes of her child. Tonowari finally broke the silence and the stand-off by stepping between Jake and Y/n and placing a comforting hand on Toruk Makto's shoulder, all the while pointedly staring at each and every Na'vi who was openly watching the family feud, "I think it is time for everyone to return to their meals."

Ronal backs up her mate's demand by glaring at all the bystanders, "Go on."

The Metkayina scatter, either to return to their seats or avert their eyes back to their food, the silence now filled with casual mumbling among the People. Jake's ears droop when he realizes the size of the audience he attracted by his outburst and he has the decency to look ashamed. He peers back to his family and mutters, "Lo'ak. Spider. Take the girls home."

"I can walk myself home, thank you very much," Y/n snarled dangerously, stepping around Tonowari and her father and stomping through the parting sea of Na'vi who dared to get in her way.

Tuk pouted and stomped her foot defiantly, "So can I!"

Kiri sighs in mental exhaustion toward her baby sister, "Tuk..." 

Once the other Sully kids gathered and vanished from the meal, Tonowari glanced between Ao'nung and Jake, "Let us return to my home to further discuss this."

Ronal gestured Neytiri over to her before looking over her shoulder to address Tsireya, "Stay here, ma'ite."

Tsireya nodded appropriately, keeping Kailani close to her chest as she flashed a small look of encouragement to Ao'nung. She watched her parents and brother walk out of the community marui, the Sullys following suit. Neytiri walks out into the night with her husband's hand in hers, squeezing his fingers in encouragement.

Once the group was safe inside Ronal and Tonowari's home, Jake immediately apologized, "Brother, forgive me for my actions against your family. I was out of line and your son did not deserve my behavior toward him."

Tonowari raised his hand to gently silence him, "I will not fault a father for just trying to protect his child. There is nothing to forgive. Ao'nung is still young and has much to learn. Before he began to court your daughter, he should have gone to you for your blessing immediately."

Ao'nung, clearly embarrassed, kept his head down while he quietly whined, "Father, please--"

"You are the one who wishes to court Toruk Makto's daughter, boy," Tonowari directed his gaze to his son, eyes darkening but not as a threat, but in disappointment, "As the future of our clan, you should have done what tradition demands."

Jake took pity on Ao'nung, watching the way a father looked down on his son, immediately thrown back to the past when he, too, looked down on Neteyam and Lo'ak, and instantly knew he had to speak up this time, "No. I don't blame your son for not coming to me. I don't deserve that sort of respect. Y/n is strong-willed and she knows I don't deserve the respect of being her father or any traditions that require me to be so. If anything, she would much rather have Ao'nung ask for my sons' blessings over my own because her brothers respect her as an individual who can make her own decisions... unlike me."

Tonowari nods, looking back to meet eyes with his mate. Ronal shares a silent conversation with him before the chief turns back to the Sullys, "If it is any consultation, Jakesully, Ronal and I have approved of this match a long time ago."

Ao'nung's head perks up with interest, "You did?"

Jake's question echoed Ao'nung's, equally shocked, "You did?"

The chief explains with a distant look in his eyes, "I was much like my son at that age. Arrogant, crude, and desperate to please the other reef boys around me. All it took was to find Ma Ronal to get my head back on straight. From that day on, I only ever ran after her." 

Ronal pointedly looks at Neytiri, her chin held high, "Even though he is destined to be olo'eyktan one day, my son has never shown interest in a mate. Never. Not once. That is... until he met your daughter."

Neytiri took Ronal's stare as an opening for her to add to the discussion, raising her hand to gently take her husband's arm to grab his attention, "Jake. I already knew."

Jake turned back to her, still shocked and sounding like a broken record, "You did?"

"Everyone did," she nodded, smiling slightly, "Apart from you. Why do you think none of us have said anything before now? It is because we have accepted it and even approved of the match. We all would have said something sooner if we were against it. Y/n is taronyu now and she does not need our permission to live her life anymore. She never had."

Jake takes a moment to collect his thoughts, breathing deeply in and out slowly through his nose. He stared off into space, conflicted with a war going on in his head before Neytiri simply squeezed his arm and he returned to the present. Jake looked back at his wife before raising his white flag, turning his gaze onto Ao'nung with an expression of guilt.

"I am sorry, Ao'nung. I shouldn't have accused you of anything. I know Y/n is capable of taking care of herself and I know she wouldn't have given you the time of day if she didn't think you were a good man," Ao'nung stands up straighter, appearing grateful and nodding to Jake before the former marine turned to Tonowari, "We'll take our leave now. I apologize for interrupting your supper."

Jake takes Neytiri's hand again and they walk home, speaking as they walk so their conversation is kept private before they would have to face their children, "Does he have to court her now? They're too young."

Neytiri hums in agreement, "Courting sometimes takes years, Ma Jake."

"It wasn't with us."

She hums again, only it was full of fond amusement, "If I recall, you never courted me."

A small grin played on his lips, a little drained from tonight's events, but it was genuine all the same as he playfully spoke, "No, but if I recall, you knew exactly what you were doing taking me out there to the Tree of Voices, alone, wearing your hair like that and wearing that lovely top--"

"Ma Jake!" Neytiri gasped in astonishment, gently slapping his chest and laughing as they finally made it home.

The parents quiet their amusement before they walk into the marui, instantly met with five pairs of eyes, four yellow and one brown. While the rest of their children stared expectedly at them, Y/n immediately looked away, ears pulled back in embarrassment and tucking her knees up to her chest.

Jake immediately beelines for Y/n, slowly sitting down beside her as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry."

Conflict flashes over her face. It felt as though she and her father were back at square one, fighting as though they hadn't already sorted out their issues. Then again, this wasn't Neteyam, or the war, or Y/n's depression. Jake was just trying to be the classic overprotective parent he was always meant to be. He wasn't acting as a soldier. He was acting as a father, and that's all Y/n had ever wanted from him. Slowly, she melts into her father's embrace and sighs, "I know. You were just being my father. That is not something I'll ever blame you for. Just... don't be so embarrassing next time."

Jake and the rest of the children laugh while he just holds Y/n close. Neytiri smiles at the scene, trying to memorize it as best as she can so she can share it with Neteyam the next time she visits her son. After all, Y/n was one step closer to moving out of their family marui and wouldn't be able to hug her father like this as often as they used to. As sad as that made Neytiri feel, she was comforted by the fact that Ao'nung was kind and good to her daughter, and she would never be alone again.

A/N: The next part will be the final! Basically, I wrote everything that I wanted for this story, and the rest of it can be told in just one more chapter, so I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have!

[ruvviks]

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC OR PAIRING.

Nathan and Ruben share a bond more powerful than most; mutual understanding through past experiences no one should ever have to go through, and through past actions so horrible they cannot be spoken of. Their grief and the blood on their hands binds them to the STEM technology they created, which has alienated them from the rest of the world— but they give each other the comfort they have both longed for so desperately for years, and that is all they need. They are each other's counterpart; you cannot imagine one without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Through their pain, their grief, their desire, and their regret, they have become one.

anna akhmatova, the guest // bones; equinox // 'i won't become' by kim jakobsson // agustín gómez-arcos, the carnivorous lamb // by oxy // achilles come down; gang of youths // czeslaw milosz, from 'new and collected poems: 1931-2001' // 'extended ambience portrait from a resonant biostructure' and 'migraine tenfold times ten' by daniel vega // a little death; the neighbourhood // marina tsvetaeva, from 'poem of the end' // by drummnist // katie maria, winter // 'nocturne in black and gold the falling rocket' by james abbott mcneill whistler // micah nemerever, these violent delights // body language; we are fury // 'the penitent' by emil melmoth // chelsea dingman, from 'of those who can't afford to be gentle'

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkess on Umbara Chp.13 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 12. Epilogue

Carnage Of Krell

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, betrayal, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

You abandoned the title of healer in order to pursue vengeance. It went against your oath. You were supposed to save lives, not end them.

But monsters shouldn’t be saved.

Which is why you joined the squad. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kix, Tup, and other troopers of both the 501st and the 212th. Everyone around you wanted justice. 

“What I'm proposing is highly treasonous,” Captain Rex stood in front of you, speaking with authority, “If any man chooses to opt out do it now,”

Everyone remained silent but stepped forward, heads held high. 

“From this point forward we are entering uncharted territory,” The captain emphasized, “my orders are to arrest General Krell for treason against the Republic!”

You followed his lead. Pistol in hand, senses sharp, and focus hardened. Your gaze met the man you love, and you hoped he understood. 

I’d follow you into Hell, Rex.

Every step to the airbase had a purpose. Every soldier was geared-up and ready to take down the ruthless Jedi. Jesse and Fives were freed and given their own rifles. 

The ARC trooper looked especially determined to arrest Krell. It would only be fair that he was the one to toss the former General into a cell. You were just happy to be helping him achieve such a thing.

With your pistol loaded and ready, you kept your eyes forward as the doors opened to the top floor of the tower. Soldiers filled in, surrounding the Jedi. He didn;t seem bothered, simply staring out the window over the dark landscape. 

You followed Fives, deciding to keep out of Rex’s way as he walked forward, “General Krell, you're being relieved of duty.” 

The besalisk turned slowly, keeping his hands behind his back, “It's treason then,” He growled.

Rex aimed his pistols, keeping his voice steady but commanding, “Surrender General.” The other soldiers shifted with their leaders' movements. Everyone was primed, ready to strike. 

Krell’s steps were slow and deliberate as he walked forward before stopping, “You're committing mutiny, captain.” He sounded so…uninterested in the situation at hand.

Tup and Kix moved from their spots to keep their rifles pointed at the devious generals back. They remained firm and determined, fingers on the triggers of their guns. 

“Explain your actions,” the captain of the 501st snarled. They deserved an explanation for everything.

“My actions?”

“For ordering your troops against one another!” Rex snapped. 

Krell seemed smug, “Oh…That,” His tone was clearly that of someone who was bored with the topic, “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out. For a clone.” He spat the last word.

Fives motioned to the squad and they moved, taking two steps closer to the former general. Yet, he still seemed unbothered. 

“Surrender, General.” Captain Rex commanded, You’re out number-”

Krell stomped forward with one foot and shot all four arms out. He used the Force to shove everyone back. 

You slammed into the wall, knocking the wind right out of your lungs. The other soldiers were in a similar state, but everyone recovered quickly. You began firing your pistol, aiming towards the corrupt Jedi. The other soldiers did the same, hoping to overwhelm him with the sheer number of blaster bolts.

“You dare to attack a jedi!” the besalisk shouted, twirling his now activated lightsabers. He moved with practiced skill, deflecting every shot.

Damnit! Not good!

He leapt forward, slashing down two soldiers. They collapsed, dying almost instantly from the power of the strike. 

A 212th trooper rushed forward attempting to charge the bastard, but was swiftly cut down as well. His body was kicked forward, slamming into the wall, narrowly missing Rex. 

“I will not be undermined,” Krell twirled his sabers, pausing his movements to glare at the 501st captain, “By creatures bred in some laboratory!” He turned swiftly, breaking the window of the tower and leaping down to the airbase below. 

“Follow him!” Rex commanded. 

He, and the other soldiers began to rush down to the ground floor, but you stopped. Most lightsaber strikes were instantly fatal, but you checked for a pulse from the troopers Krell cut down anyway. 

Even if you craved vengeance, you were still a doctor. 

No pulse. Nothing. For all of them.

Confirmed to be dead, you left them and followed the soldiers down. Your steps caught up, and you kept next to Fives as the clones gave chase. However, the small group had been stalled by Dogma stepping out from behind a starship.

“Hold it right there!” He demanded.

Rex pulled his pistols and aimed on the younger trooper, “Lower your weapon, Dogma.” His voice was steady and calm, hoping to talk down the clearly conflicted clone.

He shook his head, “I can’t do that, sir!”

“That's an order!”

“It's my duty!” Dogma aimed his rifle at Jesse, then you, then Fives, “You’re all traitors!”

Your lover lowered one of his pistols and removed his helmet to speak, “I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you, that's how they engineered us,” He looked over at you before staring right at Dogma, “But we're not droids. we're not programmed, you have to learn to make your own decisions, Dogma.” 

Tup approached his batchmate before raising his own rifle on the panicked trooper. He kept calm, even when Dogma shifted and pointed his weapon directly at him, “Dogma, don’t do it.”

Thankfully, that's as far as Dogma went. He dropped his rifle and looked down. His turmoil was clear, even as he was tackled by other soldiers. 

“Take him to the brig.” Rex commanded, putting his helmet back on, “Troopers, don’t let General Krell escape!”

The chase was on. 

You remained out of the captain's way, pretty much attaching yourself to Fives. You’d defer to him if you weren’t able to stay close to your lover. Afterall, under your thirst for justice, you were still a doctor. A healer intended to protect and save, not fight and kill.

Krell broke something inside of you. You’ve abandoned your purpose, becoming a vengeful, angry shell of your former self. At least for now.

“I got you,” the ARC trooper spoke next to you as you both navigated the dense, black and red Umbaran jungle, “That's what you say when you take care of one of us,” His stepped over a glowing root, and you followed, “Since you’ve had all of us, let me have you this time. Follow my lead.” 

“Thanks, Fives.” You responded, keeping your eyes forward. The land was covered in a gray fog, making it difficult to watch exactly where you were going.

“Anyone got anything?” Rex spoke lowly into his communicator. 

“Negative, Captain. We lost him.” The soldier on the other end responded. However, after a second, the familiar sound of whirling lightsabers pierced through the communicator, “Wait! He’s too powerful!” Blaster shots echoed in the distance and the trooper cried in his com. You could also make out the distinct cruel laugh of the Jedi.

Fives knelt, focusing his scope, “He’s coming!” The ARC trooper warned. 

There was a thick silence that fell over every soldier around you. It was only broken by more gleeful laughter from Krell, “You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain.”

You got back-to-back with Fives, pistol raised and ready. That damn Jedi’s voice seemed to come from every direction.

“He was right, I was using you.” More laughter from that bastard. Krell leapt from the branches above you and landed on top of a group of clones. His large foot crushed one of them, and his green lightsaber stabbed through another. He activated his blue saber and twirled the lethal weapons, “You’ve all been my pawns!”

“Get him!”

The corrupt General began laughing again as he was shot at. Unbothered by the blaster bolts, he dashed forward, cutting down the closest clone. He turned, slashing two others, sending them to their graves. 

You and the other soldiers continued to fire, hoping to find a way to get past the defense of his double-ended blades. He stepped forward, spinning his weapons, blocking every shot aimed towards him. Without even looking he managed to kill three more clones. 

This was a game to him. You realized with horror. He was having fun.

Something, the Force, wrapped around your body, restraining you. Krell had an open hand raised, laughing cruelly. You tried to aim your pistol only to fail, “You’ve fascinated me, Doctor.” He taunted before throwing you. Your back slammed into a tree, ripping a groan from your throat, “What do you see in these…inferior creatures?”

One of his large feet slammed next to you, the tip of his green lightsaber was level with your throat. Your pistol had fallen out of your reach when he threw you, leaving you unable to defend yourself. 

“Bastard!” You spat. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Fives trembling in rage and Rex damn near frozen in terror.

No pistol, but you had an idea. Your hand reached into one of your packs and wrapped around one of your surgical tools.

Krell didn’t seem very interested. He continued to use his blue lightsaber to deflect the blaster bolts as he stood over you, “That didn’t answer my question, Doctor.”

Your eyes glared up at him, “These soldiers are better men than you ever were!” In a surprisingly quick movement, you brandished your laser scalpel and stabbed his foot with it. You took a sick sense of satisfaction hearing him yelp in pain. 

“Ingrate!” He shouted, leaping back to defend himself from the barrage of blaster shots. The Force restrained you again, and the Jedi threw you. Your body hit the hard plastoid of a soldier's chest plate as someone caught you. However, they remained standing, wrapping one arm around you and keeping you up as well. Once you got your bearings, you looked up to Rex holding you with one arm as he fired his pistol with the other. 

“Hi.” You greeted him sweetly, “Thank you, for catching me.”

Now wasn’t the time, but…Damn, you really loved this man.

You felt his grip on you become tighter. He was shaking, ever so slightly, but remained focused. 

Krell Jumped forward, grabbing another soldier. The 501st trooper cried out in panic before being raised in the air and brought down on the general’s knee. The snap was audible and loud. To add insult to injury, he threw the trooper to the side like trash. 

Dead? Most likely. I need to check.

You broke away from your lover and ran to the trooper. Feeling for a pulse, you found nothing. 

His name was Faux.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter. Faux. 

You looked up just in time to watch Krell throw Tup deeper into the dense, dark jungle. Without thinking, you sprinted in that direction, hoping and praying your friend would be alright. Your steps slowed when you saw him get up and raise a hand to stop you. 

Behind him, the tendrils of a fanged beast underground waved around. The bioluminescence of its mouth was rather distinct. Tup saved Dogma from one of these earlier.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, taking slow and deliberate steps towards him. That beast scared you.

“I have an idea.” was his response to you. Tup got to his feet and activated his comm, “Captain Rex, this is Tup. if you can, force the General towards me.”

Rex’s confusion was apparent over the comm, “What? Why?”

“Trust me, Sir!”

With Tup’s certainty, you stepped a wide circle around the Umbaran creature, getting to his side. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it worked.

You really couldn’t handle losing another friend.

After a moment, Rex commanded through the communicator, “Troopers, listen up. Circle around, lure him towards Tup!”

“Tup…” You followed him, making sure to watch where you placed your feet. Your laser scalpel was warm in your hand, prepared to use it to fight that damn beast under the ground if need be, “Can I at least get a heads up before you get yourself killed?”

His rifle was tight in his hands as he watched the battle in the distance. Through the fog and darkness, you could make out the bodies of soldiers running past Krell, towards your location. Tup fired his blaster once he spotted the corrupt jedi. 

The former General skidded to a stop and whirled to face him. The trooper shouted, ticking him off even more, “Hey ugly! Come and get us!”

“Tup!” You stepped back, raising your small weapon. Mentally, you calculated how fast you’d have to get the fuck away from the deraged besalisk. 

Krell sprinted at the both of you. His sick smile became more and more clear as he approached. His lightsabers were activated at his side, prepared to kill the both of you. 

Tup didn’t move. He lowered his blaster and tensed, lowering his head. 

Was he trying to get himself killed!?

You took a step forward, hoping maybe you could tackle him out of the way before Krell got to him. However, it turned out that you didn’t need to worry. 

The Umbaran beast lashed its tendrils out, grabbing the Jedi and swinging him in the air. He cried out and grunted, waving his lightsabers around, trying to get the creature to drop him. His blades managed to sever the creature's tongue, sending the damn thing into a frenzy.

Tup you absolute genius!

Krell was thrown to the ground before getting picked up again. His green lightsaber slipped from his large hands and you dove down to grab it. Sadly, he still had his blue saber, which he used to kill two other troopers. 

Despite the disorientation, the Jedi proved to be a great warrior, managing to keep an eye on his surroundings. The soldiers had regrouped, firing their blasters at him, only to have their shots continuously deflected. The beast waved the besalisk around, giving him the chance to slice off the calf of a 212th trooper. 

Instantly cauterized. Pain management will be key. Calm him before he goes into shock.

Your instincts kicked in. You were a doctor, damnit! Abandoning your drive for vengeance, you skidded to the troopers side, immediately tending to him. The painkillers were in his system before he could fully process what happened. 

The sound of a lightsaber slicing followed by a thump and a groan filled your ears. You looked up fast enough to watch Tup fire a stun bolt on the besalisk. Krell let out a choked growl before collapsing on the ground. 

“I stunned him, sir.” Tup sounded triumphant. 

Rex kicked the Jedi rolling him on his back, “Nice work, Tup.” He nodded to the younger trooper.

Fives and Jesse got cuffs on the bastard, ending the fight then and there. 

“Get the fucker in the brig.” Your lover spat, “Drag him if you have to.”

It didn’t take long to return to the air base. Krell hadn’t managed to run far, so even with his unconscious body and the injured, you all managed to return before he even woke up. 

You wanted to be there when he did, though. So you asked Jesse to inform you when the Jedi opened his eyes. It gave you enough time to help any injured that survived the lightsaber wounds. 

Not many. You noticed bitterly. Krell killed too many good soldiers. 

You were putting one more trooper to his permanent rest when you got the com. You left the injured with Kix and left the medical bay. Rex, Fives and Jesse were at the tower by the time you and Tup both arrived. Wordlessly, all of you went down to the air base prisons. 

Dogma scrambled to his feet, seeing the captain again. Regret and shame was clear on the trooper, as he kept his gaze downward.

The Jedi was seated on the floor as if meditating. As soon as he heard you come down the lift, he raised his head and snarled. 

“Why, General?” Rex spoke first, approaching the cell, “Why kill your own men?”

Krell chuckled darkly as he stood, “Because I can.” His voice was smug, and full of ego, “Because you fell for it. Because you're inferior.”

“But you’re a Jedi! How could you?”

“A Jedi?” The former general laughed again, “I am no longer naive enough to be a Jedi,” His words dripped with hate and venom as he spoke, “A new power is rising, I’ve foreseen it. The Jedi are going to lose this war and the Republic will be ripped apart from the inside,” Even from a distance, the darkness inside of him was clear in every word, “In its place is going to rise a new order and I will rule as part of it!”

You turned, sharing a look with Jesse before staring back at the former Jedi. 

Rex growled, “You’re a Separatist.” 

Krell shook his head and stood tall, looking down at everyone in the room, “I serve no one's side. Only my own, and soon, my new master.”

Master?

“You’re an agent of Dooku.” Your lover stepped forward, keeping his hate filled gaze on the disgraced general.

“Not yet, but when I get out of here, I will be.” The fallen Jedi sounded certain in his words, “after I've succeeded in driving the Republic from Umbara the Count will reward my actions and make me his new apprentice.”

Dogma cried out from his cell, “How could you do this? You had my trust! My loyalty!” Even through the barrier keeping him in, you could see his eyes, glossy with tears, “I followed all of your orders, and you made me kill my brothers!”

You honestly felt bad for the poor trooper. He really thought he was doing the right thing.

“That’s because you were the biggest fool of them all, Dogma!” Krell cruelly laughed at the distressed soldier, “I counted on blind loyalty like yours to make my plan succeed!”

“Fucking bastard!” You spat, “That will never happen!” 

“You’re a traitor, General, and you will be dealt with as one.” Rex seethed, keeping eye contact with Krell. 

“You never learn, Captain.” He sounded smug as he turned and sat back down, “The Umbarans are going to retake this base, and when they do, I will be free.” The besalisk lowered his head and closed his eyes, as if meditating again. 

The conversation was over. 

“Sick, twisted fucking…” Fives crossed his arms and grumbled as you all got on the lift and raised out of the brig, “General Skywalker will want to punish Krell himself.” 

“Agreed.” Jesse mumbled. 

You stepped forward, taking a hold of Rex’s hand, “Cyare.” Your voice was soft, “It’ll be alright.” 

He looked back at you, giving you a ghost of a smile. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jesse nudge Tup before whispering, “Don’t say a word to anyone about the captain and doctor.” 

“Understood.” 

“Good man.”

Once the doors to the outside opened, you were immediately greeted by Hana, “Captain,” She saluted Rex, “We’ve repaired the transmitter. It looks like it was sabotaged,” The trooper explained, “Despite that, we’ve received a message from General Kenobi. His forces have captured the capital, but the remaining Umbarans are heading here.”

Another battle…

“Get everyone on the perimeter! We need to prepare for a full scale attack!” The clone captain barked his orders. 

“Yes sir!” Hana saluted before putting her helmet on and turning to rush off to do as he commanded. 

Rex turned back, facing you and the others, “Krell sabotaged the transmitter. He's been against us from the beginning!” Everyone has been played for fools, and the clone captain was taking it especially hard.

Without pause, Fives spoke up first, clearly angry, “If the Umbarans get to him, he’ll turn over all our intel! The defense codes, everything!” The ARC trooper took a step back, motioning to the door you all had just walked through, “He’ll strike a crippling blow to the Republic!” 

Jesse stepped up, “something has to be done! We can't risk the possibility that he might escape!”

“As long as Krell is alive, he is a threat to every one of us.” Tup reasoned, looking towards the Captain. 

It was clear your lover was conflicted. Clones were made to serve the Jedi and the Republic. Killing their General, even as an act of justice, goes against their very creation. It wouldn’t be easy…

“Rex,” You abandoned protocol. Right now, you chose not to be the 501st field surgeon. You chose to be his cyare. You took his gloved hand and squeezed it, “He’s a traitor. One who has done irreparable harm to you and your brothers. If the Umbarans let him out, he’ll hurt even more people.”

You could see the conflict in his beautiful eyes. With a sigh he nodded, “I…agree.”

The five of you went back into the tower, lowering into the brig. Once there, Fives approached Dogma’s cell and opened it, getting him to his feet. 

Rex stepped forward, keeping a steady glare on Krell, “Turn around, and step toward the wall.” He commanded, readied one of his pistols. 

The former General rolled his small eyes and turned.

“On your knees.” Your lover growled. 

Damn…not the time. But damn…

Jesse pressed a button on the console, opening the cell. Tup remained next to him, stock still.

The former Jedi chuckled darkly, turning his head slightly, “You’re in a position of power now. How does it feel?” He sneered. 

“I said,” Rex steadied his pistol, aimed right at Krell’s back, “On. Your. Knees.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” The disgraced General taunted, voice smug and full of hate, “But I can sense your fear.”

There was a shift in Rex. Suddenly, he seemed uncertain, and even scared to a degree. 

He’s trying to go against his very purpose. 

Your eyes roamed over to Fives and the rifle on his hip. If Rex couldn’t pull the trigger, who would?

Could you?

“You’re shaking, aren’t you?” Krell continued to poke at the clones' anxiety, “What are you waiting for? The Umbarans are getting closer.”

The captain tried to steady his trembling aim, “I have to do this.” 

What would happen to Rex if he did? Court martial? Arrested? Decommissioned? Would Kamino call for his mind to be wiped?

You took a subtle step towards Fives, hand slowly reaching for the rifle on his hip.

The fallen Jedi laughed, “You can’t do it, can you?” His fucking voice was smug and overconfident, “Eventually you’ll have to do the right thing and-” 

In one swift movement, you slipped Fives’ rifle into your hands and pulled the trigger, ripping Pong Krell's life away. 

He collapsed, choking on his last words and hitting the ground. 

Save them. Protect them. 

All of those Krell hurt and killed ran through your mind. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter. Faux. 

The 501st. 

The 212th. 

Your eyes met your lovers. Rex looked at you, surprised, fearful and devastated. You went against your purpose as a doctor. All so he didn’t have to. 

You’d do it again. To protect him. Save him. For him.

Rex.

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 12 "Old Friends, Older Foes"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 9.3k Chapter Tags: Dinner, Dinner Date, Kissing, Forgiveness, Friendship, Relationship, Plot Twist, Talks of Grief, Mentions of Jack being a widower, Drug references, Alcohol consumed (sensibly), lowkey erotic encounter (if you squint).

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 11 "Wipe The Slate")

A reconciliation dinner with Jack takes a few unexpected turns, which not only have implications for you and him, but for the entire of Statesman.

Jack has stayed true to his promise to not ‘fuck up’ with you, and at 6 o’clock on the dot he knocked on the door to your apartment, just outside of Statesman grounds. A simmer of excitement bubbled inside of you as you headed towards the front door, opening it in anticipation for the evening ahead. 

For as much as the two of you had trials and tribulations recently, there was an air of intrigue within your apartment as you’d been getting ready, your stomach knotted up as you debated what to wear, your mind asking countless questions about the upcoming evening. You wondered if he’d have more to say in apology, or at the very least an explanation for why this promotion hit him so hard. You could understand it stinging a bit, but you weren’t dumb, and figured there was much more in his name than what meets the eye. Whether he’d open up, though, was an entirely different question…

But when you opened the door to your home, it was clear that the restaurant Jack had chosen for dinner was looking to be far fancier than you’d first imagined. You’d pulled a casual outfit out of your wardrobe, opting for jeans and a blouse, expecting him to just take you downtown to one of the steakhouses everyone in Statesman kept going on about. Greasy burgers, hand cut fries, and an all too cheap bottle of chilled beer kind of nights. 

But when he turned up in smart suit trousers, a light blue shirt, and a stetson without frayed edges, you had to excuse yourself for a moment to get changed. 

“You know you look fine as you are?” you heard Jack say from the comfort of your couch, leaning on the back of the seat and admiring your place. Scoffing, you stuck your head out of the crack in your door to speak to him, somewhat flustered and hurried as you searched for something more on his level to wear. 

“Jack I don’t know where you’re planning on going, but if you look like that,” you pointed at him, “then I ain’t going out like this!” you said, pointing back to yourself before ducking back inside your bedroom to get changed.

He’d laughed at you then, finding amusement in your reaction. But he also didn’t fail to notice how comfortable and familiar this all felt - a pleasant change after his own selfishness had forced a wedge between the two of you for months now. The ice which had formed in his heart was finally thawing out, and for the first time in weeks Jack felt an unfamiliar warmth and fluttering brewing in his stomach as he listened to the rustling of your clothes being pulled out from your drawers. 

But there was something about this preamble which felt familiar, and as he took in all the trinkets in your home, the small things which felt so definitively ‘you’, he couldn’t help but hope that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this way. He stood from where he had gotten comfortable and started to admire your belongings; photographs with family and friends, pieces of art on the wall, and piles of books scattered around the place. Everything in your home was perfectly curated as the embodiment of who you were, and as he paced around the room Jack didn’t miss the comforting nature which came from simply being here. 

You didn’t make too much effort with your outfit, but it was better than what you’d started with. You had a navy blue dress slung in the back of your wardrobe which hadn’t seen the light of day in months - nothing over the top, just a plain knee length gown that was quite smart. If you were being honest it was more ‘office attire’, but your other options all very much leant towards the kind of thing you’d wear on a date you wanted to go really well. 

And this wasn’t that. 

Was it? 

You cleared your throat as you took in your appearance, now happier that you would match the vibe of whatever Jack had planned for the evening, and the two of you headed out and towards Jack’s truck. 

“Jesus, how old is this thing?” you chuckled as you got in, Jack holding the door for you as you hauled yourself into the Bronco, your small heels not making the task any easier. He laughed with you, pinning you into the truck with his arms either side of the door as you got comfortable and fastened your seatbelt. He gently slapped the body of the truck with his right hand. 

“She’s seen her time, for sure. But I also didn’t lay a finger on her for over two years, and the rust started to set into the old girl,” he said, and there was a flash of an emotion on Jack’s face you didn’t quite recognise. Grief? Regret? 

“Still!” he snapped out the small trance he was heading down into, “She runs just fine, and I won’t see a single complaint from you about that!” he chuckled, pointing one finger at you in jest while he closed the door with his other hand. 

You giggled as you watched Jack walk round the front of his truck, his eyes never leaving yours, his finger still pointed at you. It had been so long since the two of you had been able to slip into such an easy atmosphere that you felt a slight sting in your eyes from tears which threatened to make their escape down your cheeks. 

You’d missed this, just the two of you messing around without a care in the world; before promotions, tense training sessions, and the bitterness which had existed between you both like a sour taste left in your mouth after a strong liquor’s aftertaste. It was almost overwhelming how normal it felt to now be able to exist with one another and not be at each other’s throats, or filled to the brim with worry and anxiety about how things were going to go. 

Jack opened his own door and sank comfortably in the driver’s seat, adjusting his position and belting himself in so swiftly that nobody would know he’d had such a prolonged period of time not behind the wheel. He was still chuckling to himself under his breath as he got in next to you, and as he turned to meet your gaze before starting the ignition, you were greeted with a wide smile. Jack’s eyes creased at the corners, and for the first time in a long while you saw his beautiful smile lines creeping back onto his skin. 

It took every ounce of strength to not reach out and caress his hardened skin, to gently touch a face which had been weathered by age and neglect, his own torment ruining any chance he had at being happy so many years ago. Your fingers twitched in your lap, and for a moment more you considered it, until the sound of the engine firing up rippled through your ears and made you jump. Jack must have had his hand on the ignition key without you realising it, and as the truck roared to life a short breath jumped out from your lungs. 

“She ain’t that scary, doll,” Jack chuckled, winking at you before turning his head towards the dashboard and disengaging the parking brake. 

“Just made me jump,” you said sheepishly, clearing your throat and looking forward with Jack, attempting to compose yourself. He chuckled under his breath again as he shook his head quietly, before pushing the gas pedal and setting off towards the main road. You sat for a while and watched the scenery pass you by as Jack settled into his role as the designated driver. Occasionally you would turn your head and pass a glance at him, so at home riding the beaten up Bronco, a huge contrast to the prim and proper image he maintained at Statesman. 

It was obvious that he had put a lot of care and time into maintaining this car over the years - parts of the overly worn leather seat looked newer in some areas, a sign he’d gone to the effort of reupholstering the seat. The bodywork inside, while a little scuffed in places, didn’t have a single dent or any serious damage. And the fact the decades old radio was still capable of tuning into modern radio stations was a damn miracle, proving that there had been a lot of love shown to this truck. 

But for as stark a contrast as it was to see him in this relic of a vehicle, somehow this seemed like the most normal thing you’d ever witnessed. Almost like he was born to be doing this, not wielding weapons in a smart denim suit. For the first time, Jack appeared genuinely content and at peace as you watched him. 

“Are you enjoying being behind the wheel again?” you asked. Jack nodded, grinning. 

“I am. It was the thing I missed most about being on lockdown. And, well,” he tapped the side of his head, chuckling, “y’know. A slightly major brain injury.”

You couldn’t hold in the little giggle that escaped. Jack had always been very good at using his injury for the sake of humour, and while at first you had been utterly appalled, you’d grown to share in the joke with him. It even got to the stage where you’d missed being able to laugh in the face of adversity with him while he had given you the cold shoulder these last few months. 

But now finally everything felt like it was slotting back into place. 

“How long since you got the all clear to drive?” you asked. 

“Clara cleared me two months ago. I’ve been slowly working my way back up. I figured once I started fuckin’ shootin’ straight with you then I was probably safe behind the wheel again,” he laughed. 

You smiled at Jack and watched as he effortlessly drove the vehicle like it was just an extension of him - there was no nervousness to him, nor any signs that he was struggling physically with driving stick shift. His hands glided effortlessly from the wheel to the gear stick any time he needed to change the revs on the truck, and watching him do such a menial task could almost make you forget what he’d been through. 

That was in part what you always admired about Jack - for everything that you knew he’d been through, and hell, you didn’t even know the half of it, he got on with his life and adopted the “keep calm and carry on” attitude you’d been brought up hearing about. Colleagues at MI5 had the cheesy slogan on as many mugs, coasters, and pens they could get their hands on, and fully leaned into the British ‘make do!’ attitude - but few of them actually had it in them to go by the teachings when shit hit the fan. 

None of them were like Jack. Nobody that you had ever met was quite like him. You supposed that’s what made him so remarkable.

You supposed that’s also what made him so likeable…

Sliding onto the highway, Jack pressed his foot on the gas pedal and began gaining speed away from the compound. You watched in the side mirrors of the Bronco as the infamous Statesman bottle-shaped building disappeared into the background, and from next to you there was a noticeable shift in tension. Jack sighed in contentment as he sped away down the main road, the aged tires hitting the asphalt and crunching beneath the weight of the truck. You smiled at him as he shed some metaphorical weight off his shoulders, his composure relaxing and the muscles on his face instantly looking less taut within seconds. 

Finally, he was free. You knew that he hadn’t really left the grounds, even though he was permitted, and it had piqued your interest as to why. Was he just waiting for the right time to leave? Did he truly have nothing outside of the compound left for him anymore? 

Your curiosity ultimately got the better of you. 

“Champ tells me you’re choosing to still live on Statesman grounds, by the way?” you said, posing such an observation more like a question. It had been bugging you for a while why Jack wasn’t back home - you knew from Tex that he had a ranch not far from Statesman, and couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t moved back as soon as his house arrest ceased.

Jack’s face dropped slightly, and he felt a tightness across his chest at your question. His initial response was not to actually give you much satisfaction, but he knew that was how the old Jack would have responded. It was a fair enquiry, and there was no reason why you shouldn’t know everything. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to be that open and vulnerable. 

“I have my reasons. Perhaps one day I’ll indulge you in them, but I-,” he sighed, then shrugged, “I’m sorry, I’m not ready to talk about it.”

You smiled over at him and instinctively reached across to place a hand on his thigh to comfort him. You squeezed his leg softly and felt his muscles tense beneath you and his breathing hitch at the unfamiliarity of such affection. 

“That’s okay, Jack. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. No pressure from my end, I was just curious,” you said, allowing your hand to slip away, fingertips lingering as long as they could to try and send a message to Jack - ‘I’m here, you’re okay’.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping one hand from the wheel to quickly grasp your hand before it completely left his thigh. His heart pounded in his chest at the size of your hand within his, and how you moulded to the shape of his palm so well. It was almost like you belonged there. After him giving you the cold shoulder for a few months since your promotion, he’d forgotten what it felt like to have you so close. 

You considered it for a brief moment - to unfurl your fingers and interlock them with his. So badly you wanted to. But for as many small moments such as this which the two of you had shared, two very distinct facts remained. One was that you had been Jack’s T.O. for the better part of several months, and two was that you were potentially going to be official partners. You couldn’t imagine risking anything by indulging in fleeting curiosities such as these moments. God knows you wanted to. 

Sliding your hand back into your own lap, you leant back into your seat and watched the scenery pass you by. Dozens of fields rolled seamlessly from one into the next, each adorned with a different part of agriculture. To say you all worked so close to a big town, and an even larger city, this part near Statesman retained a lot of its rural heritage. It was something that had attracted you to the role in the first place, the area being a stark contrast to what you’d been used to with MI5. London had its perks, but you’d grown tired of the city lifestyle. 

Jack glanced over at you and smiled to himself as he watched your eyes fleet around the hillside, your own smile content and peaceful as you gazed out. He’d not been out much since he’d been permitted, but as he looked around the scenery with you he felt that same fascination and awe you were displaying. Time had erased his own knowledge of the beauty in which he lived, and the reason he’d joined Statesman in the first place. 

“Lela, with what they’re paying me, we’ll both be able to retire comfortably before we’re even 30. We can raise our kids out here, live a proper homestead life…what do you say?” he’d asked Lela, sitting out on the porch of the ranch they were viewing. It was just three weeks before the wedding, and they wanted to get the ball rolling on ‘life’ as fast as possible. 

Lela smiled at him, then nodded as she looked out from where the ranch sat. Atop a small hill, with fields and trees extending as far as the eye could see. They were but a short drive from their families back in town from here, but isolated enough that they could have a slice of a peaceful life. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Jack,” she said, reaching her hand out to grasp his, “The real question is; how many kids are we havin’?” she giggled. 

“Well,” Jack smirked, leaning in to kiss his fiance on the cheek, before sliding his lips up and peppering her jaw with soft kisses, “there are five bedrooms here. So, how do you feel about… two?”, he kissed her again, “Then three?,” another kiss on her jaw, making Lela laugh, “then four?” he said, the pair now both in fits of laughter as Jack covered her face in soft kisses with each ever growing number. 

“Jack! I’m starting to think you’d have ten kids if I didn’t stop you!” Lela laughed, sliding herself onto Jack’s lap on the bench where they sat. Jack chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his body. 

“You might be right about that one, my love. But can you really blame me?”. 

As Jack kept driving, he exhaled sharply, dragging his mind back to the present day. He tried not to think too much about his time on the ranch with Lela, as truthfully it was still too painful to imagine a life there without her. He’d been stuck in time for so long, he wasn’t sure how he’d go back. 

“I have a property nearby,” he found himself saying. You turned your head and nodded, not pressuring him to say anymore. 

“We- Lela and I, my wife- we had the property. For years,” he smiled taut, “But it stood still with me. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back. That’s all.”

You reached back out to Jack and grasped his free hand. He instantly took it in his, his fingers tightening their grip around yours. You felt a small smile erupt onto your face at his invitation for closeness, the simple gesture being more of a bridge between the two of you than what you’d had in months, 

“Thank you for sharing, Jack. I know it can’t be easy. But if you ever want to talk about it, or to visit your home, I’m here for you to lean on,” you said, your thumb softly caressing his hand. 

Jack briefly turned to look at you, the setting sun splashing a warm glow across his cheeks and reflecting in his dark brown eyes. His brow softened as he nodded, then lifted your hand to place a tender kiss to the back of your knuckles. You giggled as his moustache tickled the thin skin, unfamiliar with his gentle touch, and Jack grinned at the sound of your laugh. 

“Thank you, sugar,” he said as he set your hands back down onto his lap and turned his attention back to the road ahead. It was not lost on you to the fact that he was in no rush to let go of you, grasping your delicate fingers between his for as long as possible before he eventually had to release you to change gears. 

You let him slip away and continue driving, and the two of you filled the silent ride with idle chit chat as the scenery rolled by. He spent more time gossiping with you about Tex and Astrid than you ever thought he would, Jack never being one for rumours. But you giggled along with his complaints about how Tex now had his head in the clouds, having evidently fallen for Astrid in their time together in London.

“Leave them be, Jack,” you chuckled, “They’re in love. Even our cynical asses remember what that’s like,” you said, a passing comment that you didn’t think about the implications of until you heard Jack’s breathing hitch. 

It felt like a stab to his heart. Not because you were cruel, or unkind in your words. You were right, and he was being a cynical old man for finding annoyance in Tex’s recent fascination with your friend. But yet again he was reminded of his failings in life - that since his wife passed away, he’d not dared let anyone else into his life, let alone his heart. There had only been one woman who had come close, and he feared he’d already ruined what that could have been…

Clearing his throat, Jack spoke, asking you the questions this time so as to divert the attention away from the fact he obviously did not want to lament on his status as a widower. 

“Have you ever been in love, London?” he asked, reverting to your former nickname now that the two of you were back to being friends again, and not in a professional setting. You smiled at the small detail, your stomach fluttering with butterflies again, before being replaced with nervousness. 

Slowly, you shook your head. 

“I think if you’d have asked me that before coming here, I’d have said yes. Of course I’ve been with people, but I also did a lot of undercover work while I was back in the British Secret Service. It’s taken me this long to see that a lot of what I thought I felt for people was just an extension of the lies I’d been trained to tell,” you admitted, rather sheepishly. 

It wasn’t something you ever saw yourself admitting to, but it was true. You’d had flings, some short term relationships, but nothing ever serious. Hell, the fact that you didn’t was in part one of the reasons you felt so certain about taking this job in the first place. You lived for yourself, and nobody else. 

“I understand,” Jack confessed, “I’ve done my stint undercover too. I know how it can mess with your head.”

“You did?” you asked. Jack nodded, then sat up straight in his seat, puffing his chest out and putting on a confident smile. 

“You are not only looking at Agent Jack Daniels, sugar,” he winked, “But I’ve also gone by Peter Balmaceda, Matthew Holmes, and James Charlesworth,” he chuckled. 

“Sheesh, how many identities?” you laughed, “And all so different!”. 

“Very! I’ve been an investment banker, an actor, and an art dealer with a wildflower business on the side,” he laughed, “All of which are far from who I am!”. 

“So, in other words, the perfect covers then?” you said. Jack nodded. 

“Yep! Ginger sure knows how to create a convincing persona, and they’ve all come in handy more times than I care to count.” 

“Same with mine, although I only had one alias. Claire Evans, a university lecturer,” you grinned, “Which basically meant I spent a lot of time pretending to look busy,” you sniggered. 

“Nice to meet you, Claire,” Jack grinned. 

“And you…which was your favourite cover?” you asked. 

“Probably Peter, the actor,” he smiled. 

“Nice to meet you then, Peter,” you chuckled. “And what’s that surname?”. 

“Balmaceda. ‘Peter’ was from a Spanish family. I needed him while I was stationed out in Madrid,” he said, and you felt your eyes widen. 

“Is this where you tell me you’re fluent in Spanish, or something?” you chuckled. 

Jack smirked, then cleared his throat. 

“Well, I’m a bit rusty now, but…Sí, puedo hablar español con fluidez. Mi esposa, Lela, vino originalmente de España”. 

You smiled as you heard him speak another language, a talent you didn’t know that he possessed. It gave him a new layer as an agent that you’d never even considered, and you had to admit that you were somewhat impressed with his ability. 

“Alright, I’m guessing fluidez is fluid?” you asked, and Jack nodded, “But the rest of that sentence is lost on me, I’m afraid. Did you learn to speak Spanish for the job?”. 

“No,” he shook his head, “My wife’s family was originally from Spain. We met in high school and Spanish class was how we met. I was failing miserably,” he laughed under his breath, “So she tutored me”. 

“No, Jack, that’s not the correct use of that word. You would only say it like that if you also changed the grammar to this,” Lela said, scribbling in his notebook and making amendments. 

“Oh, okay, that makes a bit more sense…,” Jack said, trying to get his head around their most recent lesson. If he were being totally honest nothing was sinking in yet, but he was willing to try for Lela’s sake. 

“Why do I feel like you’re lying?” Lela giggled, and she watched as Jack blushed a bright red. 

“I’m not! It’s just difficult the first time around. Why are you even taking this class anyway, if you speak Spanish with your grandparents fluently?”.

Lela shrugged, setting her pen down next to Jack’s workbook and leaning back in her seat. 

“It’s an easy class for me to pass,” she giggled, “What about you?”.

Jack smiled at Lela, knowing that he was too cowardly to ever admit his real reason for taking this class. She’d caught his eye the moment they met, and in a bid to spend more time together he’d signed up for the extracurricular class without a moment’s hesitation. 

But instead, he just shrugged, and smiled at her. 

“I like a challenge, I guess.”

Lela laughed as Jack flashed a wink towards her, her cheeks erupting in a fiery blush that felt hot in her hands as she tried to distract him from her obvious fluster. 

“You, Jack Daniels, are going to be trouble!”. 

You smiled at Jack as he explained a little about his wife’s heritage. There wasn’t much you knew about her, other than what you’d been told in passing, so you never stopped him whenever he did give you a little bit of information. 

“That’s really sweet, you know? That you wanted to learn,” you said, and Jack chuckled to himself. 

“I wasn’t always a miserable bastard,” he grinned, winking at you, making you laugh with him now. 

“I never said you were!” you protested, gently slapping his thigh in a faux protest. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, “Anyway. I’ll revert back to being my miserable self,” he said as he slowed the Bronco down. You glanced back out the window and realised you were pulling into a parking lot near a stretch of buildings, all beautifully decorated with seasonal flowers in bloom and warm string lights hung outside. 

“We’re here,” Jack said, turning off the ignition. You craned your neck as you looked around your surroundings from the jumpseat, your fingers fiddling with the seatbelt. 

“Wow…,” you commented as you unbuckled yourself, then opened the door of the truck. 

“Wow?” Jack snorted, getting out of the vehicle and joining you around your side of the truck, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“It just looks really beautiful, that’s all,” you smiled, admiring the sidewalk which was neatly kept, wrought iron benches scattered along the paving slabs in front of the various buildings. Most looked to be restaurants, but there were also some designer clothing stores too which were closed now that early evening had set in.  

Jack smiled as he watched your eyes flit around the scenery, taking it all in. He admired, while you weren’t looking at him, how the warmth from the string lights sparkled in the reflection of your eyes, lighting up your whole face and drawing attention to every little feature. The way your eyes were beginning to crinkle at the corners when you smiled, something he’d seen in his own face for a decade now, only just beginning with you. How your hair lay perfectly with seemingly nothing out of place, even though he knew the style you’d gone for would have been so unintentionally done. 

He couldn’t help but admire your beauty as you yourself took in the surroundings, in an area you were unfamiliar with, and he felt his heart beat a little faster as he did. On instinct, he slipped his hand into yours, and wrapped your arm around his. 

You turned and looked at what Jack had manoeuvred you into, your arm wrapped around his, resting in the crook of his elbow. Smiling sweetly, you looked up at Jack, and felt that same nervousness you had done just a half an hour earlier when you were getting ready, the casual demeanour of the car ride over now melted away and replaced with something that felt far more intentional from the both of you. 

~~~

The restaurant was beautiful, and as your waitress led you both to your seats you felt nerves begin to rise even further. This was absolutely the kind of place you would bring someone if you were trying to impress them, to show off a little bit, or to take your long-term partner. This was definitely not the place two friends would come to dine. 

So, you wondered, after everything you’d been through; were you just friends? The fact remained that neither of you had ever discussed anything that had happened between the two of you, and you wondered if that might be in part what tonight was all about. 

Your waitress seated you swiftly, with Jack having already pre-booked a table helping massively with your wait time. The two of you swanned past a line of people waiting to see if a spot was likely going to open up for them this side of midnight, and you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit smug at the fact you were being taken through to the belly of such a prestigious restaurant. 

Jack thanked the waitress as the two of you took your seat in a small booth, and as you tucked yourself into the chair she reached forward to collect a chalkboard placard with the name ‘Daniels’ sitting proudly in the centre of the table. The table was pre-laid with polished utensils, folded napkins, and a small red candle in the centre of the table piece that matched the deep red leather of the leather booth seats. 

“So, what do you want to drink?” Jack asked, and you shrugged, his question snapping you out of your admiration for the building you were in. 

“Feels criminal that either of us should be paying for whiskey, so that’s off the table,” you chuckled as you glanced over the drinks menu, debating if you fancied a glass of wine. Jack grinned, then leant back in his seat slightly, and dropped his hands below the table. You furrowed your brow, placing your menu down slightly. 

“Well then, good job we’re not payin’ for whiskey then, hey sugar?” he said, flashing you a wink. 

And then the pieces fit together. You heard the clink of metal followed by Jack discreetly removing the whiskey flask that laid on his belt. He quickly unscrewed the cap and poured you both a finger of whiskey in what should be the glasses for water. 

You covered your mouth to stifle a loud laugh at the absurdity of what Jack was doing. You thought that you stopped sneaking booze into fancy bars and restaurants when you were twenty-one, but apparently it seemed his forties weren’t stopping Jack. 

“Jack!” you hissed quietly, allowing some of the giggles to escape. He chuckled with you as he drained the flask and then returned it to its rightful place back on his belt buckle. You watched as he leant back to gain access to the belt, and you should absolutely have not found the ordeal as erotic as you did. Thick fingers twisted at delicate latches and loops, securing the metal in place, before tugging on the flask to make sure it was secured in place. 

Inhaling sharply and swallowing hard, you averted your eyes back to the glasses, now with a small measurement of whiskey in it. Knowing Jack, it would be Statesman or something of a higher calibre - you’d not yet know him to drink anything cheaper than what the brewery made. 

Lifting the glass, you swilled it around slowly, allowing the aromatics to enter your senses through deep breaths. But immediately you were taken aback, and wondered what he’d brought with him, for this did not smell like anything you’d known Statesman to make thus far. 

Clearly your face betrayed the fact that your mouth had not yet moved in a way in which to ask questions. You heard Jack chuckle under his breath as he watched you analyse the contents of the glass, now leaning forward in his seat, the flask attached at his buckle anew. He too lifted his glass and began swilling the rich amber liquid. 

“Wanna know what it is?” he asked. 

“It’s not one of ours, is it?” you said, sort of like a question but with an element of certainty behind it. You knew that this wasn’t one of Statesman’s. You’d have tried it by now. 

Right? 

“Go on; try it,” Jack said, his lips curling up into that cheeky grin you’d come to know oh too well these past few months. You watched as he slowly lifted the glass to his own mouth and took a sip of the whiskey, his lips gently encasing around the edge of the glass to make sure he didn’t waste a single drop. 

And then he swallowed hard, and you watched as the muscles in the column of his throat contracted to push the liquid down, all while his steady gaze remained on you. You felt your eyes begin to water at the corners at the sight, your mind reeling and imagination taking over, planting scenarios in your mind that you could now only dream of. Flashes of your finger tips grazing the taut skin there as he had you pinned against the floor, his lips dancing with yours. 

Or, more sinfully, the thought of you sinking your teeth into that bare flesh and leaving your mark behind. 

Clearing your throat, you did as Jack asked, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a sip. You let the spirit sit on your tongue for a few moments as you deciphered every note in the blend, trying to figure out where this was made. It had the undertones of a bourbon rather than a scotch, so that marginally narrowed it down. But the flavour palette was unusual, and not something you could pinpoint. 

You swallowed the whiskey and enjoyed the warming feeling that slid down your throat - not a burn, not acidic, just right. But still, you had no idea. 

“I’m getting notes of orange and honey. Who made this?” you asked him. 

Jack grinned, quickly tossing back the rest of his glass before smiling at you, a look on his face that showed he was clearly pleased as punch for stumping you with this. You hated that you found his cockiness remotely attractive. You hated the fact he had got you second guessing this even more so. 

“We did. Well, specifically…I did!” he said. 

“You?!” you said, not meaning to sound quite as bewildered as you did. Jack chuckled. 

“Charming! Yes, me. When I got transferred over to the business side of the operation with Statesman, Champ tasked me with thinking of ways we could diversify. It was all a ploy to just keep me busy and making sure my mind wasn’t turning to complete mush after my accident,” he said, tapping the side of his head, “But still! It worked. We do whiskey of all different ages, different barrels to distil in, even a different mash to make it. But we’ve never done flavours before,” he said. 

You could see in his eyes that this was something he was actually proud of. For as much as working for the front of Statesman had been a punishment for the former senior agent, he clearly had taken some good from it. 

“So you helped develop this then?” you asked, setting the glass down. He nodded. 

“Yep! That’s our fifteen-year whiskey mixed with a blended honey, orange, and cinnamon liquor. Although guessing how you didn’t pick up on that, perhaps we should up the strength…,” he said, trailing off before reaching into his jacket pocket to pull his phone out. He flicked it open and started typing something on it as you finished the remainder of the drink, and you couldn’t help but smile against the rim of the glass as you watched him frantically type away. 

“Would you ever go back to the product side of things, Jack?” you asked. He looked up from his phone as he shut the screen down, depositing it back into his jacket, and shrugged. 

“Hmm? Nah, probably not. Why?” he asked.

“You just seem to enjoy it,” you observed. 

Jack shrugged again, contemplating his answer. He couldn’t lie, he absolutely did enjoy that side of things after a while. At first it had felt like such a punishment, but over time he came to love the creations he made, and watching them perform well in the market. He might not have been able to help from the secret service side of things for a while, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t still actively benefiting the business.

“I suppose I did. But I know what I want now,” he said, his voice shifting and sincerity lacing his words. You felt like his eyes were piercing into your very soul with how he looked at you, and a little delusional voice in your head convinced you that he meant you. 

Perhaps he did. 

“And that is?” you asked, sipping the whiskey again, goading him somewhat with your line of questioning. 

“This job. Being an agent again, doing good for people, keeping others safe,” he smiled, and suddenly the little voice in your head went quiet. 

Of course he meant the job. 

Idiot. 

~~~

After much deliberation over the menu, which was filled with so many mouth watering choices that you could happily return here every night for a month, your meals arrived and the two of you began to eat. You both met your food with equally pleasurable moans and sighs, the flavours exploding onto your palette and the taste overwhelming your senses. Jack smiled as he watched you take bite after bite, enjoying every morsel of food. 

“Is it good?” Jack asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. You smiled, nodding your head and finishing your mouthful before speaking. 

“So good! I can't believe I’ve never been here before in the almost three years that I’ve been living here!” you said. Jack chuckled, setting down his cutlery for a moment to take a swig of his drink - one he actually paid for this time. 

“You won’t see the best places without the aid of ol’ Jack here,” he chuckled. 

“Maybe not. You’ll have to let me in on the best kept little places around here, now that you’re a free man,” you smiled.  

Jack smiled across at you, nodding his head slightly as he took another mouthful of food. You wondered if the deliberate choice to eat again was in part so that he wouldn’t have to circle the conversation back to being outside of the compound; but you didn’t mind. You’d gathered enough from your brief conversation in the car that there was a lot Jack had on his mind regarding his freedom, and what laid ahead in the outside world. It was a topic you weren’t going to push with him, even though you were sincere in your desire to have Jack show you all of his favourite places to hang out. 

“One day,” he said after finishing his mouthful of food, flashing a brief wink in your direction. 

You smiled at that, content with his answer and that he wasn’t immediately shying away from the idea of being out with you more. An idea which had seemed so far fetched not all that long ago, now was very much in reach. 

But there was something else that hung at the back of your mind. An elephant in the room which needed addressing; something which the two of you had been putting off mentioning since the day in question. 

“Are we…are we good?” you asked, clearing your throat. Jack looked up from his last mouthful of food and nodded towards you, setting down his utensils.  

“Of course we are, doll,” Jack grinned, “Could never not be all good with you. Why do you ask?”.

“We… we never actually talked about that day,” you began, setting down your knife and fork once you had finished your meal, and picking up your glass of water to wash away what remained in your mouth.  

“What day is that, you mean?” he asked. He knew exactly what day you were referencing, but he didn’t want to appear too overbearing by acting like he knew off the bat what it was that you wanted to discuss. In truth it was something that had been eating at him, too. 

“You know what day I mean, Jack,” you couldn’t help but chuckle, “That last training session, before my promotion. And then, I suppose, the one after our argument in training,” you said. 

Jack inhaled sharply, then nodded his head, a taut smile on his face. He knew this conversation needed to come up sooner rather than later, but he had hoped that it wouldn’t be tonight. At least, not like this. He hadn’t wanted to dwell on those days. He was so ashamed of how he acted towards you, and how the following months would unfold, that he tried not to think about it. 

But on more than one occasion he had found himself seeking pleasure when his mind wandered back to that day. It had been long enough now that your scent had left his nostrils, and your taste had left his mouth, but the feeling of you beneath him was the one thing he remembered vividly. The feeling of your body pushed against his was something he yearned for and chased, the soft swell of your breasts in his palms feeling so right that he hated how he had fucked up any chance to be so lucky again. 

“Ah, yes. Those days…,” he sighed slightly, knowing that avoiding this conversation was not possible. “What do you want to talk about?”. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked, bluntly. The question had been burning a hole in your mind ever since it happened.

“Do what? Kiss you?” he asked, almost sounding a little offended that you’d even question his judgement on that one. 

“Yes,” you nodded, “As well as…well. You know…wandering hands,” you said, mimicking the movements he had done with your own palms mid-air. Jack chuckled as he watched you practically sign out what it was that you tried to ask him, before answering. 

“I kissed you because I wanted to. You’re attractive, we get along, and if I may be so brash, I liked you. A lot,” he said, his dark brown eyes sincere as they locked with yours, his gaze never faltering as he reached a hand across the table and caressed the back of your hand with his thumb. 

Liked. Past tense. That was the one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb to you, and it made you furrow your brow. 

“Do you still like me?” you asked, somewhat timidly, unsure if you actually wanted the answer. You felt your eyes stinging slightly at threatening tears, the prospect of having somehow lost Jack through all this almost overwhelming you. But the sting subsided when he leant forward, squeezed your hands harder in his, and smiled warmly at you.  

“I do. Do you like me?” he asked in return, an eyebrow raised. You nodded, pursing your lips together to hold in a wide grin, his playful demeanour returning for the first time in months. 

“Good,” he beamed, “So, you won’t be opposed to this then.”

Jack rose to his feet and walked the two paces around to your side of the booth. He leant down, his hands reaching out to cup your cheeks, and he softly placed a kiss on your lips. You smiled against his lips, everything around you melting away around the two of you as you softly kissed him back. Your bottom lip slotted between his perfectly, and that familiar tickle of his moustache brushing your top lip made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You felt a small smile erupt on Jack’s face as he softly peppered your lips with a handful of gentle kisses, paying attention to your surroundings and not overstepping in a public place. He can’t have been on his feet longer than ten seconds when all was said and done before you felt him pull back, but for that brief moment it felt like an eternity together. 

And it felt right. 

“No,” you giggled, “not one bit,” you said, watching as Jack returned to his seat across from you. 

~~~

“I am not letting you pay for my meal, Jack! Come on, it’s the 21st century, and I have a bank account for a reason,” you insisted as the waitress arrived with the cheque. Jack shook his head, reaching forward and setting his hand over the top of your wallet to prevent you opening it. 

“Absolutely not. This is my treat, and I’m insisting on such,” he said, his other hand reaching into the pocket of his trousers to pull out his bank card. You huffed under your breath, hating that you didn’t feel like you were going to win this one. You’d had enough nerves and anxiety that this felt like a date, the last thing you wanted was him to pay for it. Without sounding too old fashioned, in your mind that would rather solidify that this was not just a friendly exchange. 

Even though he had already kissed you…

“Jack, come on, let me?” you pleaded, but Jack continued to hold his hand over your wallet. He slid his card out at last and smiled at the waitress, the card reader in her hand ready to take payment. Jack darted his eyes back towards you quickly. 

“Sugar, I asked you out. You ain’t payin’,” he said. 

The waitress giggled, then looked at Jack, and asked if he was paying. He winked at you, nodded, and confirmed with her he was covering the whole bill. You rolled your eyes, and you heard him chuckle to himself as he completed the transaction. He thanked your waitress once a receipt came out the machine, signalling the bill had been paid, and only when she walked away did he let go of your wallet. 

Sliding his bank card in his inside pocket, Jack rose to his feet. You begrudgingly placed your wallet back into the small bag you’d brought with you, and once you were standing by his side you jokingly jabbed him in the rib with your finger. 

“Maybe I won’t let you ask me out again, if you’re going to be so stubborn like this,” you sniggered. Jack rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you through the restaurant towards the exit, a slight blush creeping up onto his face. 

“Sugar, as much as I know you’re joking, don’t ever taunt me with taking away the chance to take you out an’ treat ya,” he smiled. You turned to look up at him, and meeting your gaze was a look you’d never seen on Jack before. Everything seemed to soften as he looked down at you, the pressure of his hand on your back increasing slightly, like he couldn’t quite get close enough to you. 

Something that both of you knew was that a tension simmered between you. Something you had so missed in the months since Jack had grown distant from you, bitter about your promotion. The feeling of his body weighing you down in the gymnasium was a memory that crossed your mind multiple times a week, that feeling of closeness that you shared, the fact both of you almost very nearly stepped over the threshold. 

And then it was ripped away. 

Enough was enough. You wanted an end to the cycle the two of you were getting yourselves into. Taking a deep breath, you chewed on your lip nervously, before eventually asking the burning question that had been simmering in your mind all evening. Liking you and kissing you sporadically was one thing, but wanting to actually do something about it was entirely different. 

“Are you saying that you want to take me out again?” you asked, a smirk on your face and eyebrows raised. You watched as Jack’s cheeks grew redder at the insinuation, but before he could utter another word, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

His eyes darted over to the corner of the room, and you felt the muscles in his body tense up. His back went rigid, and his hand on your lower back no longer felt comforting, his fingers now pressing painfully into your skin. You watched as the colour faded from his face, his skin going pale and his expression gaunt as he fixated on something across the room. 

“Jack?” you said, your hand snaking across his back to caress him softly to try and get him to relax. 

“I-,” he stammered, his mouth dry and his head spinning in disbelief at what he was seeing. 

Surely not, he thought. Not after all this time. 

“What is it?” you asked, before turning your head to see what it was Jack was so fixated on. 

Your stomach dropped. 

Everything washed away at the sight before you - a man in his late twenties, sat with a couple other men and women, a variety of discarded appetiser plates and empty beer glasses in the centre of the table. The group were laughing and joking with one another, but that wasn’t the reason you were both so fixated on him. 

Creeping up from the man’s black shirt collar were a few blue lines. At first glance it didn’t appear like much, but the longer you observed him the more you could see these lines moving, as if they possessed a life of their own. One by one his friends stopped laughing and began talking among themselves as eventually all exposed skin of the gentleman was littered with blue streaks. 

Tampered narcotics. 

The Golden Circle. 

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, “We need to get him in, now,” you said, all pretence for this evening completely dropped and your Statesman agent mode kicking into high gear. Jack nodded, slowly snapping out of the slight shock he was in. He withdrew his hand from your body almost as eagerly as he’d put it there, like this had been a reminder of what the two of you were. Agents. Colleagues. Nothing more. 

“Think you can handle him? I’ll call Clara and get the truck fired up,” he said. You nodded, breaking away from Jack’s hold and heading over to the man. 

The group weren’t a rowdy bunch by first assessment, but you guessed that this was more likely to do with the slightly concerned looks on the man’s friend’s faces. Given what they’d already drunk, you knew this could be a slight battle, and as you approached the table your mind spun with what you could say to get him to be co-operative, while also not alarming him or blowing your cover. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask that you come with me,” you said sternly, leaning down to his side as you spoke. The man turned in his seat to face you, his eyes bloodshot and dreary on account of the alcohol. 

“Why shoulda’ do that?” he slurred, clearly drunk. You rolled your eyes - you didn’t have time for this shit. The man got to his feet, stumbling slightly, and with his hand resting on the table for stability. You could see the blueness in his veins had travelled all the way down to his fingers, which was a sure fire indicator that the poisoned narcotic had been in his system for at least a day. 

“Say, ain’t you a pretty lil thang…what’cha doin’ out here without a man on your arm?” he taunted, getting so close you could smell the booze on his breath. The southern drawl you had found so attractive in the likes of Tex and Jack was totally lost on this man, and you felt yourself shiver at the sentiment that the three men were somehow from the same part of the world. 

Rancid. 

With no more time to waste, you grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it hard, yanking his arm and spinning him in place before slamming his body into the corner of the booth his friends were at. There were gasps from his friends, still in shock at the sight of their comrade, and a few of the glasses clinked together with the force. 

“Hey! Watch it, missy,” the man sneered, now immobilised with his arms held behind his back. You knew that if he weren’t so intoxicated there would be more of a fight to get him to this stage, so you were in part glad that he’d chosen to spend the evening drinking his paycheck away. It meant you didn’t need to resort to much more violence to get him to cooperate, at least…

“You’ve been exposed to a solution that, if left untreated, is going to kill you in the next twenty-four hours,” you said into his ear, “So i highly suggest you shut the fuck up and come with me without making a fuckin’ scene. Are we clear?” you spat. 

“Are you going to help him? Are you a medic?!” one of the women at the table asked, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing. You smiled, lifting the man up, still holding his arm into place to prevent him from running off. 

“I am, yes. I work at the nearby hospital. Your friend here will likely need some specialised treatment, but after which he’ll be in the ICU for you to visit him. Now, excuse me, but we have to leave quickly.”

It wasn’t a brilliant cover, but it was the best one you had given the time restraints at play. If this had already been in his system for at least a day, you knew that you didn’t have much time left before he was paralysed, and then dead. 

The man didn’t put up any further fight, but as you hauled him out of the restaurant you knew why. The weight of his body against your arms slowly got heavier, and by the time you’d reached the Bronco, where Jack stood waiting to help you, he’d almost collapsed on you, his feet dragging along the floor with each step. Jack reached out and helped you take the brunt of his weight, and together the two of you lifted him into the back jumpseat of the Bronco. 

“I’ll sit with him and keep Ginger updated,” you said, not hesitating to turn on your comms as you got into the truck with the man, who was now barely conscious. 

“Roger that, Whiskey,” Jack said, a touch curtly, as he shut the truck door behind you. You sighed softly as he walked around to the front of the truck, and fastened your seatbelt. 

This was about to be a very long drive. 

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who waited patiently for this chapter. I'm hoping it won't be that long between chapters again!

Love, Bess xox

[baphometsss]

I was tagged by @loredrinker and @vir-athim ty 😘

Layer One - The Outside

Name: Taleani Tarenan Lavellan

Eye Colour: Pale green/grey

Hair Style/Colour: Dark curly hair. In DAI she kept it up most of the time and it was longer, down to her waist. By DATV she had cropped it to her shoulders since it wasn't possible for her to do her hair like she used to.

Height: 5'6"

Clothing Style: She's nonbinary and her style is fairly tomboyish. She usually just wears hunting leathers for practicality. In her downtime, she wears earth colours more than anything, and she likes to steal her husband's clothes. She hates formalwear and all the girly stuff. If she has to dress up, she usually opts for some floaty mage robes over fussy dresses or suits.

Best Physical Feature: She thinks it's her ability to make various shapes with her spirit hand. She thinks other people (men) like her uncomfortably large bust and curves. It's actually her eyes. Her family has a very feline gaze, which she shares with her nephew Rook. Either that or her freckles.

Layer Two - The Inside

Fears: Motherhood, being forced into the role her Clan wanted her to fulfil, that being the Inquisitor has taken her freedom to be her own person in another way, and that she'll never get to just be herself.

Guilty Pleasure: She doesn't know the meaning of the term guilty pleasure. Others think she's taking a risk by cavorting with spirits of song in the Fade when she makes music. She thinks it's the most natural thing in the world.

Biggest Pet Peeve: Performativity, people who treat others differently because of how they look. Being told to be lady-like. Suck-ups.

Ambition for the Future: Post DATV, she wants to reconnect with the Titans and find a way to bring their song back into alignment with what they were meant to be. She's very good at connecting with the rhythm of the planet, and she sees music as the key to bringing it back into harmony. By working with spirits of song, she hopes that it will soothe them, and bring them closer to what she perceives to be Divinity.

Layer Three - Thoughts

First Thoughts Waking Up: How uncomfortable she is. Her stump itches like a mf and her residual limb pain is worse at night. It takes her a little bit to realign herself with her body, especially as she doesn't feel connected to it that much anyway.

What They Think About the Most: Solas is on her mind a lot. She is always wondering what he's thinking, and how she can help to heal the damage of thousands of years of guilt, anger and grief. Otherwise, it's how she can be of use. She is used to performing the role of Inquisitor, and she still feels connected to that responsibility--and how that responsibility has evolved. She also feels a lot of sadness over how she will see all her loved ones die. In the Fade, she can see much of what's going on, and she can see their lives unfolding. She's watching them age, get old and eventually die; she wants to greet them when their spirits pass through the Fade, so they know it'll be okay.

What They Think About Before Bed: Literally every bad moment in her life ever. She's a real worrier, and she spends a lot of time going over and over decisions she's made. She has had more than a few sleepless nights when she was in Skyhold. With Solas, it's easier, and it helps her to avoid manifesting the worst of those fears in the Fade. The problem is that realistically, a retired politician who had to do so much would be carrying a lot of emotional and mental baggage, and in a place like the prison of Regrets, that's only going to get worse. It definitely takes her a long time to learn how to compartmentalise and avoid it becoming too much of a problem.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: She has a hard time seeing her good qualities, which is something she relied on her friends in the Inquisition a great deal to remind her of. Solas brings out the parts of her that she always felt she had to keep hidden, and he loves them and cherishes them. He understands them. This is a big part of why she fell in love; through his appreciation of her love for the unknown, the mysterious of the world, and her own discomfort with personhood, she learned to love and accept those parts of herself too. So I think she's learned that her ability to walk off the beaten track and think outside the box is one of her greatest strengths.

Layer Four - What's Better?

Single or Group Dates: Single... why would you want other people there when you're so vulnerable?

To be Loved or Respected: Loved--respect is a prerequisite for love in her book.

Beauty or Brains: Brains. She couldn't care less about the physical.

Dogs or Cats: Both. She has a lot of affinity with animals in general. Her grandfather (who raised her) was the halla keeper of their Clan, and she was haunted by spirits from childhood, so she has always felt more at home with animals and spirits over people.

Layer Five - Do You?

Lie: Yes. It's easy for her to lie to people she doesn't give a shit about, but she finds it extremely difficult to lie to those she loves.

Believe in Yourself: Eventually, after a lot of hard work, yes. She kept all her fear and pain quiet during the Inquisition, and it's taken her years to see the effect of what she's achieved. Doubt still creeps in, as she's very sensitive and confidence is not a static emotion in general, but she's more or less there.

Believe in Love: Always. She knew that true love existed, and she never doubted it, somehow, even when it seemed like she would never find it. She had a baby that died, and she knows the power of love from that. Her love for Solas endured because the strongest thing about her is her heart.

Want Someone: Only Solas.

Layer Six - Have You Ever?

Been on Stage: As her alter-ego, Sal'uven, yes. She's very shy about her music, but when she was on missions with the Red Jennies and such she often found herself needing a disguise. So she performed as a distraction more than once, and ended up making a name for herself as a musician over time. No one knows who she is, as she always disguises herself and remains elusive--which only ends up making her more popular.

Done Drugs: No. She doesn't do well with substances; she can't even handle her drink.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: No, and it's one of the things that's got her into trouble many times before. On the plus side, it filters out a lot of bullshitters.

Layer Seven - What's Their...

Favorite Colours: Green, and other earthy tones.

Favorite Book: She's not a big reader of prose, since she prefers oral storytelling, but she has a collection of poetry. There's several written by Dreamers that she adores.

Favorite Animal: ...All of them...

Favorite Game: She plays a lot of singing games with the spirits.

Layer Eight - Age

DOB: 9 Drakonis, 9:15 Dragon

How Old Will You Be: She was 27 during DAI, 37 in DATV.

Age You Lost Your Virginity: 16, to another Dalish elf she met at a gathering. She ended up marrying him because she got pregnant on her first time. The baby was born too early and they wound up getting divorced.

Does Age Matter: It depends on what stage of life they're in and what they want. Obviously if one person is a child and the other an adult, then it matters. Otherwise, no.

Layer Nine - Finish The Sentence

I love: Solas, music, animals, her friends, art, the Fade.

I feel: Worried, overwhelmed; but also more in alignment with who she truly is than ever.

I hide: Envy and insecurity.

I miss: Her friends, even though she finds ways to connect with them through dreams. Being in nature, although the Fade is good at replicating it.

I wish: She wishes she knew the story of her origin, since it's been told to her many times that she has a unique spirit. It's not all because of the Anchor. Yet she knows she will never know the full story of how and why she was given a body, despite it being deeply unnatural for her.

* * * * *

Tagging whoever feels like doing it!

[23swife]

looking back [ chapter one ]

SUMMARY. both girls find out their world is crumbling. TAGS. 0.6k words, parent death, mentions of using sex as a coping mechanism, narrator (only this chapter). series masterlist.

"Lils!" Mary calls from her spot on the couch, flipping the page on her book to the next as her eyes scan the pages. Monsters, vampires, demons, blah blah blah. Nothing about what they're hunting, granted they don't know what it is, but they'd at least know if it's in these books.

Two pages later Melissa has still failed to make her way out of the bathroom and to her sister so Mary gets up to knock on the wooden door, hand on her gun in her back pocket.

"Melissa? What's taking so long?" Just as she's about to knock the door down the handle moves and she quickly takes out her gun, not pointing it at the door yet.

The door opens fully to show Melissa's tear-stained cheeks, and her phone in her hand. Mary drops the gun to the ground and runs over to her older sister, taking the phone and hugging her. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Don't cry, what's wrong?"

"Mum... dad, they're—" Mary's eyes widen as she takes her sister's sobs into her shirt, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Carly and Loren Rhodes were on a hunting trip for three weeks, the girls were already worried as it is, but nothing could have prepared them for this. Nothing would prepare these little girls to hear that their mother and father went down hunting monsters and that they were now alone.

"Who called?" She asks quietly.

"Bobby." Mary nods and they both slide down into the bathroom floor, it seems easier than walking to the couch while Melissa is letting out everything she could ever feel and Mary's silently letting tears fall.

That was the first time the two girls had learned to grieve. They knew death was on the table, they're hunters of course, but they never truly understood it until days passed and the only time they'd hear their parent's voice was when they tried their voicemails.

Nothing truly changed even four months later.

"This is Carly Rhodes, I'm busy, leave a message. If it's urgent call Loren, 347-927-1037." Melissa's tears keep going and she takes a deep breath, grounding herself slowly.

"Hi, mom." She says softly, looking over and Mary who's sleeping on the bed next to hers, "I miss you." She whispers, "Mary and I are still hunting," she lets out a non-amused laugh, "We swore we'd stop after your funeral but... we needed to keep ourselves busy."

A beat. Two. The animated voice suddenly says, "Maximum time reached, if you want one extra minute press one." Melissa doesn't bother, shutting her phone off and taking a deep breath before throwing it across the room. She watches as it shatters onto the wall and Mary wakes up alarmed, her gun aimed at no one in particular as she waves it around.

"What—"

"Go to sleep." Melissa turns to give her younger sister her back.

The girls thought they'd be unstoppable, much like the brothers thought, but all it takes is a dead loved one and they're all broken pieces on the floor.

It didn't stop, not even four years later, though it did get better. They had each other so they went through it, rode out the grief and pain. Melissa drowned herself in books and cases, she soon forgot the meaning of a break, opting to stay busy instead.

Mary, on the contrary, had made her entire life into one big party, filled with booze and sex. And the occasional weed. Not to mention hunts, of course, it was the one thing both girls could agree on.

It helped ground them. Especially when they were looking for the sons of bitches who killed their parents.

Sam and Dean Winchester.

tags. @therealabadoodle @naylanae-0308

[avacoleman]

good grief, charlie brown, it's once again been eons since I've done one of these. i'm really hoping to finish this fic and post soon, but we'll see if the universe can work with me here for a change. this is an infidelity fic (cheating WITH each other not on) but still, fair warning as i know that's not everyone's thing 😌💜

Henry keeps watch of the room, eyes scanning like he’s anticipating a potential threat. He figures preparedness is his best chance. If he can locate Alex before his ex finds him, he’ll stand a better chance of bracing for impact. 

It takes another ten minutes but there, a few feet away, Henry spots a familiar head of curls. Even though his back is currently to them, Henry can easily recognize Alex. No amount of time could ever disabuse him of that skill.

Henry is a married man. His heart should not be reacting to Alex and yet it jackhammers behind his ribs all the same. He tells himself it’s just nerves and excitement in seeing an old friend. He thinks nothing of the fact that, in the almost ten years since they broke up, Alex still very much owns his heart.

Alex turns and looks around the room. He seems adorably unsure of himself in this sea of people, clearly trying to find a familiar face.

Pez squeaks, spotting Alex now, and places his empty glass on a passing tray.

“Alexander,” Pez sings loudly like a long lost Schuyler sister.

Alex smiles and follows the sound of his name being sung to where Henry and Pez stand. There’s a brief look of surprise on Alex’s face when his eyes land on Henry. His smile is still in place but it morphs into something a little different, something a bit softer. Perhaps even shyer and reminiscent of the man Henry once knew.

Henry only has a few seconds to collect himself before Alex starts coming over to them.

Henry takes stock of Alex as he approaches, snaking his way smoothly through the crowds. Time has been good to Alex, ridiculously so. If Henry is being frank, Alex has only gotten hotter—objectively speaking, of course. His hair is a little longer. A hint of a 5 o’clock shadow dusts his face. He’s even opted to wear his wire-framed glasses tonight. Needless to say, the look as a whole works.

It’s been one thing to see pictures of Alex online. It’s quite another to be faced with him in the flesh.

“Alex,” Henry greets softly, his eyes still raking over his ex as he joins him and Pez. 

Suddenly Henry feels like he’s in university all over again. His heart flutters, his stomach twisting into knots. It’s been forever and yet still, Alex makes him nervous.

“It’s been…far too long.”

“Eight years, if you can believe it,” Alex replies.

Henry can. He’s loathed every single year that’s separated them since they phased each other out. 

“You look great,” he says, hoping it’s not too forward of a compliment to pay to an ex.

Alex takes it in stride, placing a hand at his sternum and smiling. 

“So do you.”

Alex reaches out a hand and touches the lapel of Henry’s tux. Henry’s breath hitches a little at the unexpected move.

“Very nice,” Alex says, running his palm down the fabric. Henry wonders if Alex can feel his heart racing two layers of clothing below.

tagging my darling @sunshineacd just in case there's anything you'd like to share with the class 👀