#or as happy as i can be at least. certainly marvelously more happier at least

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Quiting my job yall. Turns out getting a pit in your stomach every time you go in for work and when working 4 hours makes your brain geniunely think you've only been working the entire day and forgets anything else actually ISNT good

I'll give them a two weeks notice so if you see me bickering about it still then that's why XD

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[spencers-renaissance]

I'll (Never) Know What It's Like Not to Love You

Summary: Spencer finds his old journals in the attic, and he and Derek reminisce on the days they used to pine for one another. Luckily, those days are over, and they have forever ahead of them.

Tags: tooth-rotting domestic fluff, past mutual pining, past hurt!spencer, cuddling & snuggling, late canon

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy Bonus Fic Thursday!!! This was written on a whim after listening to "When I'm Older" by Ashe on repeat one morning. I think it's cute though and I do love to give these two a happy ending <3

Spencer has just turned thirty-nine when he finds the journal. It’s only November, but he’d ventured into the attic to dig out the Christmas decorations while Derek was out running errands — he can’t complain about it if he’s not here — and he’d stumbled across boxes full of stuff from Spencer’s old apartment that he took with him when he moved into the house Derek renovated for them.

He finds trinkets and books he’d almost forgotten about, old letters that he never sent, the small remnants he has left of his childhood, and he spends almost an hour sifting through the boxes as he sits on the floor of the loft, barely registering the frigid air around him.

Eventually, he stumbles on the box full of his old journals, and his heart stops at the sight of them. They’re a random assortment of hardback and paperback, colourful and plain, too many different fabrics to count, and they document every day of his life from his first day at university up until around 2009. After he got together with Derek, his life had grown too full and busy to chronicle each and every day, and he switched to only journaling through the really significant moments of his life.

He lifts them out of the box, fingering the spines tenderly as he holds them with the reverence he feels they deserve, until he comes across a fat, purple, leather journal. Jan-June 2004, it says on the spine in Spencer’s neatest print. His stomach tumbles as he remembers what’s written on these pages, and — his world suddenly zeroing into the book in his hands — he opens it.

23rd April 2004

We didn’t have a case today. Derek brought me coffee and ate breakfast with me in the break room and, even though I was smiling the whole time, it hurt so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever not be in love with him. Certainly not when he’s this close to me; not when he looks at me like he did when I knocked the stapler off the desk today; not when he places his hand on my hip and calls me ‘pretty boy’.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I think that the most I can hope for is that in thirty years I don’t still feel like this. Maybe when I’m older, I’ll finally know what it’s like not to love him.

Spencer’s heart clenches as all the emotions he’d felt when writing that entry rush back. Almost all the pages from 2003-2006 are filled with his lamentations about his feelings for Derek. He’d documented other things too at times, if a case was particularly interesting he’d write down his thoughts and observations, and he’d written about the trip he’d taken in 2005 to go and see Diana after the Fisher King case.

Largely, though, he wrote about the way Derek’s eyes looked in the sunshine, the difference in his first and last smile of the day, the gentleness in every strong and powerful muscle of his body. He wrote about the way his heart broke each day at the sight of him, how he would cry at night when the knowledge he’d never know how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms hurt too badly. He wrote about the men he slept with in a vain attempt to forget him.

As soon as the rush of emotions subsides a little, a smile crosses his lips. Tears shine in his eyes as he thinks about how wrong this Spencer was.

He is older now. He wrote these journal entries in his twenties, and now he’s fast approaching being double the age he was then, and still, he has no idea what it’s like not to love Derek Morgan. The only difference is that the hurt it used to bring has been replaced with a kind of joy Spencer never could have expected he would experience.

It’s not something painful he wishes he could forget anymore; it’s the very root of everything so wonderful about his life, and where 2004 Spencer Reid wished he could cut himself open and gut out all the love he held for Derek Morgan, modern day Spencer Reid only wants it to replicate, duplicate, overtake his body until it’s more himself than he could ever be.

⭐️

“I found something interesting earlier,” he tells Derek later.

Their empty pasta bowls are discarded on the coffee table as they sit cuddled up on the sofa and the TV is muted, playing Spencer’s favourite sitcoms across the screen, the sound of the November rain coming down outside filling the room. The Christmas decorations are still in the attic, but the journals are tucked under their bed upstairs.

“What’s that, baby?” He turns his head slightly to see Spencer’s face resting against his shoulder, tightening his grip on his waist, pulling him closer into his warmth.

Spencer looks up to meet Derek’s eyes, and he can’t help but immediately smile. They’re still the same shade of delectable honey brown, still the same ones that melt him every time he meets his gaze, but they’re a little more lined these days. Spencer always tells Derek that age looks good on him, and he means it. He looks older, wiser, safer, and Spencer still wants to melt into his embrace every moment of the day.

“I found the journals I wrote in when I first joined the BAU.”

Derek chuckles lowly, bringing a hand to Spencer’s curls. “Those must have been a good read.”

“They were.”

“What cases did you write about?”

“Not many,” Spencer admits, sliding down the sofa until he can rest against Derek’s chest more comfortably. “I mostly wrote about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I was young and in love and it hurt so badly because I thought I would never have you, the only thing that I held onto was that maybe when I was older, I wouldn’t still be in love with you. And it’s sort of funny, because I’m older now, and if anything, I’m only more in love with you.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs. “We really were a mess back then, huh?”

Spencer laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Penelope was my journal when you first joined,” Derek recalls, tracing his fingertips over the exposed skin on Spencer’s waist where his t-shirt’s ridden up. “I would go into her office at least three times a day when we were home complaining about how much I liked you. And she’d get even more calls if we were on a case.”

“Wait, is that where you used to go when we shared a room? You always used to wander out of the room at random hours making phone calls. I thought it was weird.”

Derek laughs at that, and Spencer likes the way it makes his chest rumble underneath him. “That’s exactly what was going on, genius.”

“When she and Emily come this weekend I’m gonna get her to tell those stories,” Spencer teases.

“Let her,” Derek laughs, “I’m not embarrassed. The whole world can know I was and still am madly in love with my pretty boy, I don’t care.”

Spencer’s heart warms at that, and he marvels at Derek’s ability to still make him soft and mushy after all these years. He sits up properly, shifting up the sofa until he’s straddling Derek’s hips, cradling his face. “I love you so much,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s.

“I love you more.”

“I’m pretty sure that reading even a single entry of one of those journals could convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I will absolutely be reading those journals, baby, do not get it twisted.”

Spencer smiles, sliding off his hips to curl up next to him again, resting his head on his shoulder. “You’ve made me so happy, Derek,” he murmurs, connecting his right hand with Derek’s left.

“And nothing makes me happier than hearing that,” Derek murmurs back, caressing Spencer’s thumb with his own. “I’m gonna continue making you happy for the rest of our lives, you know that?”

Spencer sighs, content and warm and loved. “Yeah. I do.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @moreidstrobed

[robbyswayzekeenes]

badass━ demetri (cobra kai) imagine

demetri x badass fem! reader 

requested by @klt123456​

i hope you like it! just a lil demetri with his badass gf and some making out in the dojo :))

It wasn’t uncommon for there to be competition between high school students. Typically, any teenagers would be warring over who was the most popular, or the most attractive, but something you never tended to find high school students fighting over was who was the toughest. Then again, West Valley High wasn’t like any other high school. Since karate had infested the Valley like it was 1980, people had been changing. It was no longer about who dated who, and who fucked who-- no, the priority was now who could whip the other in a full-blown karate fight. And whilst there was a lot of competition for the top spot; whether it was Tory, or Hawk, or Miguel, and sure, they were all in the running. But everyone knew that the toughest kid at West Valley High was Y/N L/N.

The h/c didn’t look like much. (Your height) and seemingly harmless, she was anything but intimidating. If anyone were to suggest to an outsider that she was the toughest kid in the Valley, they would be ridiculed, especially when compared to Eli’s mohawk or Tory’s resting bitchface. But the thing that made Y/N really badass compared to any of the cobra’s or anyone at Miyagi-Do is that, whilst had been training in karate for a year or so, the girl had been fighting competitively since she was eight.

Red Tigers Karate was the only dojo left in the Valley until Johnny Lawrence brought back Cobra Kai. It had started back in the 80s and was the only one left after they all closed down. It wasn’t particularly busy, not like the rush of people Cobra Kai had received after Miguel’s fight in the cafe, but Y/N had been fighting there since she was a kid. Karate was always the best way for the girl to relieve anger, and now everyone was doing it. Despite the different styles, it was no competition that she was by far the best. She wasn’t defensive and passive like the style taught at Miyagi-Do, and she wasn’t all aggressive and merciless like Sensei Lawrence taught at Cobra Kai. The girl’s karate style was the perfect combination of offence and defence, which made her practically unbeatable. Y/N was badass as shit. And everyone knew it.

Demetri was the opposite of badass. Lanky and skinny, with gimpy, out of proportion limps, karate was definitely not his strong suit. He’d taken many beatings, even before karate came back to the Valley, and for a while, these beatings were even coming from his best friend, Eli. Sure, he’d had his victories in karate, for instance, when he had kicked Hawk into the trophy case during the school fight, but all in all, he had not had many successes when it came to karate. However, Demetri’s biggest success was somehow winning the heart of the biggest badass at school; Y/N L/N herself.

The pair had somehow become friends in school, despite the dark haired boy being very much terrified of her. And from there, their friendship had blossomed into a beautiful relationship, and the pair were both incredibly happy, despite the fact that Demetri had no idea how he’d ended up with someone so far out of his league. Since the karate war had started, Y/N had begun training more and more at Miyagi-Do, helping Daniel train the students, and now, after Kreese’s latest attack, helping Johnny Lawrence and the former Cobra Kai’s learn to fight in a style that wasn’t all offence. Today, whilst Daniel and Johnny were outside separately training Miguel and Sam in order to prepare them for the tournament, Y/N was playing a little game.

“Okay,” The h/c grinned, hopping onto the mat and getting in her stance. “Let’s play a sparring game. Winner stays on. I’ll start.” Demetri could see the mischievous twinkle in his girlfriend’s eye, but of course the new members of Miyagi-Do were not aware of the girl’s capabilities. “I’ll take you on,” Mitch had said with a cocky smirk, and the boy was flat on his back in less than ten seconds. Y/N pushed one strand of h/c hair from her face, winking at Demetri who was trying overly hard not to look impressed. “Who’s next?” The girl grinned, exhaling sharply as at least five new sets of eyes marvelled at her. This was the first time the combined dojos had seen each other fight, and they wouldn’t be the first to underestimate the seemingly innocent girl.

“Alright, Y/N, I’ll take you on,” Hawk said, stepping forwards, his scar twitching as his face twisted in determination. The red haired boy climbed onto the mat, and though he would never admit it to his girlfriend, Demetri was worried for her. He knew full well what he was capable of, and he had the scar on his arm to prove it. However, the brown eyed boy was wrong to doubt, as in thirty seconds, Y/N had Eli in a pin. “I win,” The girl breathed, one of her h/c strands falling from her bun. Eli got up with a huff and walked to the edge of the mat again, taking his spot next to Demetri.

As training went on, Y/N took every student on, working her way around everyone except Demetri and every time being victorious. “Holy fuck, she is badass,” Bert breathed after being thrown to the floor less than five seconds. He was the penultimate student, and still no one had managed to beat Y/N. Demetri let out a steady breath as he knew the time had come for him to get his ass handed to him by his girlfriend, and certainly not for the first time. Hawk smirked playfully before whispering to his best friend; “If it took her thirty seconds to get me down, I reckon she’ll have you in three.” “Actually, last time it was two,” Chris chimed in, earning a playful laugh from the others which caused Demetri to blush. However, it was at this moment that Sensei LaRusso chose to step into the dojo alongside Sensei Lawrence.

“Training’s finished for today, guys,” Daniel spoke, and Demetri was hesitant to let out a sigh of relief. As much as he loved Y/N, he would rather not have his ass kicked in front of the other teens, even if she had done the same to the rest of them. “You got lucky, Met,” Chris grinned, clapping the dark haired boy on the back as they began to file out the dojo. “Great training today, guys.” The h/c haired girl smiled, though Demetri’s brown eyes caught the mischievous glint in her e/c ones, and his eyebrows raised. “Sensei, if you don’t mind, I wanna train with Demetri a little longer. We didn’t get to finish today.” As soon as those words escaped her lips, the boy knew he was screwed. “Sure thing, Y/N. Thanks for all your help. It’s good to have someone round here who knows karate but also knows what it’s like to be a teenager.” “No problem,” The girl smiled, her eyes meeting Demetri’s with a smirk. “Yeah, and it’s good to have someone round here who’s an actual badass, too,” Sensei Lawrence chimed in, earning a disapproving look from Daniel. “I”m badass as fuck, I’ll have you know,” The man argued, and Y/N chuckled, closing the dojo doors and forcing the men to take their childish bickering somewhere else.

Demetri exhaled deeply as his girlfriend turned to face him. “Didn’t think you were getting out of a fight, did you?” The girl asked with a smile, causing the boy to roll his eyes. “Gee, anyone would think my girlfriend enjoyed kicking my ass.” “Maybe I do,” Y/N grinned cheekily before pressing a chaste kiss to the tall boy’s lips. “Now come on, in your stance.” Reluctantly, Demetri planted his feet and lifted up his guard, quirking an eyebrow at the girl who adjusted her hair where it sat atop her head before saying; “Ready? Hajime.” The h/c pounced forward, throwing a kick to Demetri’s head which he barely managed to block. She then threw one, two, three consecutive punches, but the boy shielded them all. She’s going easy on me, Demetri decided as not one of her shots landed. Scoffing slightly, the dark haired boy threw a feeble punch, but it was intercepted. “Come on, Demetri. You can fight better than that.” “So can you,” He pointed out, causing Y/N to smirk. The girl threw another kick, but he blocked it with the palm of his hand and retaliated with the same kick. A stupidly predictable move, even when she was taking it easy.

Y/N caught the kick under her arm, leaving the boy fighting for balance as she rotated their stance before forcing Demetri backwards, never letting go of his leg. His back hit the wall of the dojo with a crash, and the boy winced slightly. “Oops,” The h/c said, but she didn’t seem at all apologetic. “That was technically not a karate move,” The pedantic boy pointed out as Y/N finally let his leg drop to the floor and stepped inside his guard. “Neither is this,” She whispered, taking the collar of his shirt and pulling him down into a bruising kiss. Demetri was quick to reciprocate, much happier to be kissing his girlfriend than fighting her. Y/N’s hands snaked up to the boy’s dark hair as they continued to kiss, Demetri’s back pressed against the dojo wall. His hands slotted themselves inside the gaps of the girl’s vest top, setting them on her bare waist and making her shiver. “This,” Demetri mumbled in between kisses, “Is much better than fighting.” “We both know I could still beat you at this,” Y/N responded, pulling herself even closer to the boy so that their chests were flushed together. The two continued to kiss until they heard the opening slide of the dojo door, and hurriedly jumped apart.

“What are you- really, guys?” Sensei Lawrence asked as he stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “Sensei,” Y/N breathed, though it’s not like either of them could deny it with their bruised lips and Demetri’s messy hair. “I don’t wanna know,” He interrupted, before glancing at Demetri; “Good going, kid.” The boy blushed a deep red as Johnny went on. “I won’t tell Daniel if you won’t.” Both teens nodded aggressively, knowing full well how Mr LaRusso felt about kids making out in his dojo. “But if you’re gonna fuck, at least clean the mat afterwards.”

[wrenhyperfixates]

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s the Christmas season and Loki still has much to learn. Thankfully, he has his favorite little mortal to teach him all about it. Warnings: just straight fluff A/N: Alright, it’s December, and you know what that means: time for Christmas fics! Hope you enjoy my first installment for the holiday season. Happy reading folks :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

It was bizarre, thought Loki, how seemingly overnight the world was lit up with red and green everything. Lights, wreaths, trees, inflatable decorations; you name it, and Loki could spot it from any corner in NYC. Everyone he passed seemed to be filled with joy, ready to start singing at any second. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Normally, people would give him the side-eye, but lately they passed by with a quick nod or wave. Loki doubted it had little to do with him and much more to do with the Christmas spirit floating in the air.

Ah, Christmas. He knew a decent amount about it, but had never paid too much mind to it. After all, it wasn’t like he ever really planned on living on Midgard. It was just the way things worked out. Now he wished he’d taken a bit more of an interest, for this fat, bearded, old man in a red suit made very little sense to him. And yet, he was everywhere this time of year. Though he could have asked any one of the Avengers about it, he refused to risk being teased. It should be easy enough to learn about if he truly desired to.

Loki marveled at the world in a sort of confused awe as he walked back to the Tower. This time of the year on Midgard, while so disagreeable to many, was perfectly fine with him. The bitter cold of the city at wintertime barely even felt like a summer breeze to him. One of the perks of being a perpetually cold frost giant, he supposed, was that you didn’t notice the freezing temperatures. As for those who did, well, he didn’t get why those silly little mortals didn’t just go somewhere warmer. You’d explained to him, once, that not everyone could afford to just pack up and move as they could on Asgard. A terrible shame, he thought, and he wished that he could do something to help, not that he would ever admit it. Feeling particularly generous, he dropped a one hundred-dollar bill in one of those collection bins that always popped up this time of year. It was guarded by yet another one of those strange, bearded men ringing a bell.

Hugging his so dark-green-it-was-almost-black peacoat to him, he rounded the final corner to get back home. Much like his gloves, it was more for style than anything else. Besides, no need to draw more attention to himself by dressing too lightly in the winter weather. Taking one last glance at the world around him, Loki pushed through the doors of the Avengers Tower.

“What in the Nine?” he sputtered as he was hit with a mouthful of glitter.

“Sorry, Mr. Loki,” Peter apologized. “We’re just decorating for Christmas.”

“By throwing glitter around?”

“Yeah. Why not? It’s Christmas, everything is glittery,” he said with a shrug.

“That, I can tell you,” Loki replied, patting Peter’s shoulder as he passed, “is absolutely true.”

All his other teammates seemed to be as excited about decorating as Peter was, though no one else was just haphazardly throwing that infernal sparkly dust. No, they were all using their special talents to hang garlands up from high balconies and banisters. Large ornaments and snowflakes were hanging from the ceiling. Every floor that Loki walked to was filled with merriment and yet more Christmas adornments. How they were put up so fast, the trickster god had no idea.

The common room was, much to his surprise, the least decorated place in the Tower so far. The team must have been saving this room for last, perhaps to do all together. Loki would have been upset that he wasn’t invited, but he was sure it was mentioned in one of those email blasts he always ignored. Now that he thought of it, he did remember seeing it in something that he skimmed. Regardless, this was a nice break from the hubbub in the rest of his home at the moment. In this room, there was only a tree put up and his angel working on prepping it. You.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” you sang to the music you had blasting through the room, unaware of Loki’s presence. “Everywhere you go.”

He watched in wonder as you twirled about the floor, taking out ornaments and other assorted trimmings for the tree. You grabbed a silver and gold garland and began the tedious process of wrapping it around the artificial branches, still belting your heart out. Though Loki was unfamiliar with the words, he caught on to the tune and began humming along, startling you ever so slightly. He walked up to you and grabbed your hand, joining in your spinning and dancing. Prancing around the room with you, Loki was filled with unbridled joy, and he thought he might be beginning to understand the reason for all the joy the season brings.

As you sang the final notes, you and the God of Mischief collapsed onto the couch amidst the boxes of Christmas knick-knacks, laughing your heads off. When you tried to get up, Loki pulled you back down to him, starting another fit of giggles.

“And how is my little mortal today?” he asked, playfully ticking you a little.

“I’d be a lot better if you let me finish decorating,” you teased, poking his chest.

He sighed and relinquished you back to your duties, watching you walk back toward the tree. If only he had the courage to tell you how he feels, rather than just admiring you from afar. You were best friends, sure, but he longed for more. Much more.

“Loki,” you called in a sing-song voice, batting your eyes. “Can you help me, please?”

“Of course, little one.”

He helped you string the garland the rest of the way around the tree, using his magic to get even the highest boughs. You squealed in delight as you admired your work so far, throwing your arms around Loki to thank him for his help.

Soon, the rest of the team joined you and began to hang the ornaments. No one particularly cared about where they were put, just that everyone was having fun. Loki tried to stay on the outskirts of the activity, but everyone kept pulling him back in. It made him happier than he cared to admit that they all concerned themselves with him participating. That they wanted him to participate.

“What do you think, Mr. Loki? Here?” Peter questioned as he held up an ornament in a prospective spot. “Or here?”

“The first spot, I suppose.”

“No,” Thor chimed in, making Peter worried he was going to start one of their infamous sibling battles. “The second spot, for certain.”

“I guess. I still do not understand most of this ‘Christmas’ stuff, to be quite honest.”

“Well, why did you not say so, brother?”

“Yeah, we can teach you all about it,” you added, showing up beside them. Then you snapped your fingers, getting an idea. “The tree lighting is tonight! At Rockefeller Center. We should go to that!”

“That’s a perfect idea,” Peter agreed. “So it’s set then. A crash course, then a field trip to see the tree lighting!”

Loki smiled at his friends as they bustled around him, planning the rest of the day. He couldn’t wait for later, and it made the rest of the time spent decorating even more enjoyable. Between the constant singing and cracking of jokes, there was not a dull moment to be found. While it would have usually drained Loki, he felt as lively as ever. Maybe there truly was something special about the season, after all.

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

Hours later, Loki stood with his teammates as incognito as possible in Rockefeller Center. It had been agreed that they just wanted to be normal people for one, not celebrities. To keep your group warm, Loki had cast a heating enchantment that they were all more than grateful for as they waited for the tree to light. In the last minutes before it was set to shine through the night, you summarized your lessons on the holiday.

“So,” you began, “I guess it’s basically a time for love, showing others how much they mean to you. And sure, there’s all the commercial stuff about candy canes and elves and trees and Santa Claus, which is nice and all, but that’s not the real meaning. It’s about being with those you care about and spreading goodwill to all.”

Loki thought back to all the times he’d needed a little charity or a helping hand, or really just to be shown he was loved. There were certainly a plethora of scenarios to pick from in his life. A whole season to spread cheer and show everyone things are not as hopeless as they seem sounded like a splendid idea indeed.

“I quite like the sound of that,” he said with a smile. As you looked back at him, an equally warm glow adorning your features, Loki realized there was one person he loved more than anyone else. With a sudden burst of confidence, he went to tell you exactly how he felt. “I must say this now, I-”

He was cut off as the crowd began the countdown. You gave him an apologetic smile as the both of you joined in. Upon reaching the last number, the tree lit up, filling Loki with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. That was only accentuated when you grabbed his hand, bursting with excitement and awe. Once the cheering went down, and your group began to depart, you remembered Loki had been about to say something to you.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me before?” you asked. “Before the countdown.”

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. He’d already lost his nerve. “It was nothing urgent. I hardly even remember now. Another time, perhaps.”

“Well, that’s ok,” you replied, though you sounded a little disappointed. “Whenever you remember is fine.”

Back at the Tower, everyone said goodnight and parted ways to go to bed, exhausted from the busy day. In the hall between your rooms, you and Loki stopped to say goodnight one final time. You paused mid-sentence, spying something green hanging from the ceiling above you. Loki followed your gaze upward and immediately went a shade of red that put Rudolph’s nose to shame. Even before all your lessons from the day, he knew mistletoe when he saw it. And, of course, the tradition that went with it.

He heard snickering from around the corner and spotted Peter and Thor waiting for one of you to make your move. Undoubtedly, they'd fabricated the situation to try to get you together faster than you were going by yourselves. To be fair, at said pace, you’d never be together.

“Just kiss already!” Thor shouted before ducking away to give you some privacy.

“Pardon my brother,” Loki said self-consciously. “If you do not wish to, there is no law saying-”

He was cut off for the second time that night. This time, however, it was by something much more pleasurable. You had stood up on your tip toes and placed a kiss to his cheek, too sheepish to do much else.

“Night, Loki,” you said to the still stunned god. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow indeed, my little mortal,” he said, pulling you in for another kiss, this time on the lips.

Oh yes, it was decided. This season was magical.

[mskatesharma]

she only smiles, i laugh

Anthony is in his study, sitting at his desk reading over invoices that have been marked for his attention, his eyes struggling to take in the numbers he is supposed to be adding. He wonders for a moment why his mind seems stuck on the numbers, unable to properly take them in, before he shakes his head and tries to move on. It’s only once he has finally finished reviewing the particular details of this one invoice that he realises his lack of concentration is due to him feeling restless. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, hoping it will focus him, when his mind, quite without his permission, wanders back to two days ago. He had been keeping Kate company while she lay in bed, her injured leg propped up on a small mound of cushions. It had been the most pleasant interlude, his head resting in his wife’s lap, her fingers idly stroking through his hair while she read from a novel Edwina had left that morning.

ao3 link or under the cut

He can’t recall the title of the book, but he remembers how he had closed his eyes, relaxing further and further into a state of glorious idleness with every press of his wife’s fingers against his scalp; her voice dulcet and hypnotising as she curled her tongue around the words in front of her. Something unfamiliar, yet wholly marvelous had sparked in his spine, tingling up until it had burst and he had felt it throughout his body, each stroke of Kate’s fingers further etching the feeling to his body. 

There had been one passage in particular, Kate’s fingers had migrated to his earlobe, massaging the soft flesh, that had made Anthony snap open his eyes and ask his wife to repeat the last sentence. She had looked down at him, brows raised quizzically, and she had smiled at his quiet “please” as he had taken the hand that had been preoccupied with his ear and pressed a kiss to her fingers. 

“I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh.” As Kate’s voice had washed over him, he had been immediately struck by the truth of the words, and how they very much applied to him and his life. 

“You look a little dazed my dear, is there something I can help you with?” His wife had worn a teasing glint as her voice whispered through his thoughts, and before Anthony could reply, she continued. “Has Miss Austen’s writing affected you in a peculiar manner?”

His stifled smile had felt petulant as he muttered “no” under his breath, unable to maintain a frown when Kate had snorted, as though she was quite right in not believing what he was saying. Which she was, of course, but Anthony didn’t have to tell her that.

“Are you sure? I can read the passage for a third time if it would help your current confusion?” Her smile had been wide, as her voice had taken an officious tone. “One must share with their wife, especially when unable to decipher a deeply felt emotion. I can help you find the words to best describe the feeling that has you smiling so wonderfully.” 

“I have no doubt that you could help, dearest Kate, but I have no need for a dictionary at this moment. Unless you require use of one?”

“I have an inkling of why exactly you have been affected so. If you like, I would be happy to enlighten you on…” Her voice trailed off as Anthony had flipped himself onto his stomach, and he was certain that he must have done a poor job hiding the devilish glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?” His hands had begun to gently bunch her dress up her legs, careful of her leg, his mouth ghosting kisses where the material had sat a moment ago.

“What do you think I am doing?”

“I think my hus-..husband is trying to distract me.”

A muffled “don’t know what you’re talking abou-” was all Anthony could say. He heard a soft thud on the bed as Kate had dropped the book. A gentle bite to the soft flesh of her thigh, and he allows himself to smirk against her skin as a hand tangles itself in his hair. 

“I will remember..you haven’t...you haven’t won... ”

Anthony’s “of course not” are the last words spoken for quite some time. 

But as he sits at his desk, two days later, he remembers again why he had been struck by that sentence, why it had seemingly affected him so much. He merely needs to think of Kate for the same wonderfully strange feeling to burst in his body. But as he thinks on it some more, there is still something he cannot not quite place…

He can’t help but smile as he remembers how pleasant the rest of that afternoon had turned out to be. He had quite forgotten about his temporary foolishness; the uncharacteristic shyness he had felt in the moment, feeling so overcome, so reticent in fact he had hesitated and had been unable to share with Kate. Distraction once again proving the only way to quiet her enquiries. At least for the afternoon.

But as he looks around his study, his gaze settles on something just right of the window, and he thinks that maybe now that he knows why he was hesitant, his mind will not rest until he recalls a particular word. 

He stands and makes his way to the small pile of books by the window, leftover from earlier in the week, when Hyacinth had called in with his mother and demanded his assistance in compiling a list of uncommon and unusual words. He picks up a notebook she had left behind, and flicks through until he lands on the page he is looking for; a list of words Colin has collected so far on his travels. 

His eyes scan until he finds the word he is looking for. There is a slight clench of his heart as he recalls Hyacinth recollecting what Colin had told her, and how he came to know the word. The roll of his eyes is involuntary as the grin spreads across his face. But of course.

~~

He walks into the drawing room, having just bid goodbye to Eloise and Edwina, and sees Kate leisurely leafing through the same book as their pleasant interlude from two days earlier. 

She sits with her legs atop the settee, a cushion under her healing one. Her face lights up at him, and Anthony is positive his face reciprocates in kind; he knows his heart certainly does. He will never tire of her smile; where he may have once resented the feelings it inspired in him, now it is all he can do to revel in it.

He makes his way to Kate’s side, and sits impossibly close to her, his head resting on her shoulder. He spies Newton, his purred snores drifting up from beneath the table. His eyes move to the pages in his wife’s hands, following the words on the page. 

He feels Kate’s head rest on his, and realises the restlessness he had been experiencing a moment ago in his study has disappeared. He will never cease to be in awe at how simply his wife’s presence is the most soothing balm. Anthony feels himself sigh when Kate speaks. 

“Tell me my Lord Bridgerton, do you now feel comfortable telling me what had you so enthralled when I read to you the other day? My current disposition finds me most generous, and I may grant you a boon if you choose to share with me.” He lifts his head, which forces Kate to do the same, and he shifts his body to face her. 

“Hm, that is a most tempting prospect, but I do find myself hesitating to accept.”

She scoffs. “I find that hard to believe.” Before she can question him further, Anthony stands, and as gently as he can, lifts Kate’s legs before he sits on the sofa, and carefully places her legs over his thighs. 

“Is that so? Would it pacify you to know that you inspired the feeling that caused me to be overcome by a sudden bashfulness?” He shuffles closer still, until Kate is sitting on his lap, her legs stretched out on the rest of the settee.

“That, my lord, appeared most obvious.” 

“Really?” His hand begins to make its way under her dress, his fingers tracing circles on her skin.

“Hmm, yes.”

“Should I tell you, then, the thought caused my shyness the other day?”

“As my husband, it is your duty to share with me the emotional burdens you face.”

“And what will you grant me in return?”

“Well, what would you like to be granted?”

“For what I have to say? A kiss would be an appropriate boon.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

He leans his face closer to hers, his lips brushing against hers as he murmurs “my most sincere thanks.” Just as he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Kate pulls back.

“For shame my lord; I will grant you your boon only after you tell me what was on your mind.”

Anthony clears his throat. “My apologies, but you inspire the most forceful distraction in me.” Kate simply rolls her eyes in response, but the beaming smile that breaks over her face tells Anthony all that he needs to know. “Tell me, dear wife, do you know of the word ataraxia?”

Anthony nuzzles his wife’s neck, pressing light kisses against the skin, breathing in the ever present soap and lillies. “Hmm, not that I can immediately recall.”

“Would you be interested to know that it is a Greek word.” His mouth finds her earlobe.

“Oh, how fascinating.”

“Indeed. Would you like to know it’s definition?” He tugs her lobe between his teeth, pulling softly.

“Well you have certainly piqued my intrigue.”

Anthony pulls back slightly. “According to Colin, it means a state of serene and blissful calmness.”

“How interesting.”

“I think so.” His other hand finds its way to her hair, gently tugging some of it free from her simple coiffure. 

“And what, praytell, does this have to do with your sudden bashfulness?”

“Do you really not know?” He wraps the strands around his fingers. 

“I find myself needing you to tell me explicitly.” He smiles against her neck.

“Well, let me make myself clear. You, my dearest Kate, and being with you, inspire a state of serene and blissful calmness that I never thought possible.” He pulls back slightly, wanting to see her face, and he’s unsurprised by the warmth infused in her face, or the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Oh.” Her voice catches on the word, and something blooms ever brighter in Anthony’s chest. “You’re the same for me, you know.” The words are quiet, but they light something quite fierce within him. 

He lowers his voice. “Do you give me permission to claim my promised boon now?”

“If you have need of that question, maybe I should reconsid-'' He doesn’t let her finish as his lips descend on hers, and Anthony feels her smile against him.

And really, he knows it’s a game of push and pull that they play, and that she is the only opponent he ever wishes to face in such a fight. He knows that they both win when their respective battles end with one of his hands tangled in his wife’s hair and the other up the skirt of her dress. 

And while he’s also certain of the fact that he will never experience another bliss quite like this one, he knows it is more than he ever could have hoped for. 

ataraxia (greek, noun.): the state of serene and blissful calmness

[omgkalyppso]

It's 1 AM — happy belated birthday Owain! I wrote some owainigo / laslodin ? Intended as being able to be read as an S support for Laslow and Odin. Written to recognize Inigo as bisexual and polyamorous and Owain as a trans man. Vague about Owain's sexuality because he currently has his sights on Inigo only.

.

It had been a long time since Laslow had felt like dancing; even recently, he’d wondered if he’d ever want to again, when they’d fallen into Valla and all hope had seemed lost. Yet when Xander had ordered he and Peri enjoy themselves this eve, he’d had a week for his dancer’s garb to be refitted — the clothes he’d arrived in — now matching a soldier’s girth and shoulders. He was not the spritely lad of years past, and wondered whether he looked like a fool.

In the least, the steps were as familiar as breathing, and the melody of the drums was known to his heart, even if the tune wasn’t the same.

His mother — his birth mother, whom he’d only known for such a short time, so much of her dancing was made for battle: relief in victory, love in anticipation, heart in loss. She remembered music of happier times, but those dances hadn’t translated into his tiny feet, so used to the sound of war drums.

He found his dancing riled the spirits of some, who watched or tapped a foot, mimicking a step or two, and Laslow felt further from them than he ever had before.

They were going home. He was going home.

This crowd would only be a memory.

.

He wondered where he would find himself: would it really be the world left in relative peace where Grima lay sleeping? Or would his intent send him spiraling far and away to the land of memory, nightmares and blight? Would Owain even wish to leave Nohr? It suited Odin Dark so naturally. He seemed happier as a mage, and through magic, his own and discovered, Owain had even managed to mold his chest into a form that brought him joy and comfort.

Inigo wondered whether Owain would hold any apprehension in sharing this version of himself with old friends and family.

Some would say Owain had no understanding of shame or embarrassment, but they’d never read his stories aloud, or seen him as a young bashful man who knew little and less of how to present himself. Still, Owain had grown, had carved himself and the world around him in ways that had secured their victories as of late.

Inigo knew that it was his own insecurities over returning that truly alarmed him.

Meanwhile Severa knew what she wanted. She always had. Her heart might be large enough to reserve pieces for all who showed her kindness and some manner of discipline, but she could never stay away from Morgan and her parents. Her home was known and waiting.

.

The song ended and he shared a soft laugh with his liege, a man whose trust and generosity he was on the cusp of betraying.

.

Public celebrations were a favorite of Owain’s. He had learned to handle a crowd, and could often find a group or three to regale with tales of victory, honor and suspense. There were jeers at times, but less when the people were joyous and relieved. Perhaps not all understood the challenges that had weighed upon their liege lords and borders, or their fabric of reality, but they knew strife, and wanted to believe it could be felled by a hero — why shouldn’t he be that.

He’d been shouting over the music for so long, that he’d nearly missed Elise’s voice marveling excitedly, “Hey! Did you know about this? He told me his dancing was a secret.”

While the Xander hushed his sister and they chittered on in silence, Odin Dark also fumbled in his tale, glancing, for a moment, to where Laslow spun daggered discs on his wrists. Owain might have trailed off entirely, and taken the time to watch as much of the performance as possible, whether to jeer or jest or compliment, but Odin had an audience, people who would think him missing or worse in the weeks to come, and so he dove back into an embellishment of the beasts they had defeated. He could watch Inigo dance again. He was sure of it.

.

The tents were relatively empty when the witching hour came to pass. The masses had retreated to the castles and campgrounds, manor houses and taverns where guests and guards were making due. A flutist was speaking with Laslow, a dancer by his side, correcting his posture, of all things. Owain sat on the edge of a fountain, and watched until his friend noticed, as Laslow turned away, red in his cheeks and upon his neck. He stopped their performance swiftly, seemingly assuring the dancer that he would remember to practice. It put a pinch in Owain’s brow, mournful that he’d spurred his friend toward another broken promise.

“You were watching then?” asked Laslow, spinning a ribbing at his side through his hoops so that they would lay at his hip, jingling.

“Even those whose ears I captivated with tales from the saga of Odin Dark, could look nowhere else!” He chuckled as Laslow sat by his side, shifting slightly, as the costume left little protection against the cool damp stone of the fountain. “If only you’d told me, we might have coordinated our performance!”

“I’d make a poor archrival then,” Laslow teased. “If I weren’t stealing your audience.” He stretched, and Odin watched how the bulge of his belly and triceps marked Laslow for his latest manner of fighting — reserved, sturdy, and strong. “And still, not one enraptured lady to request an encore, nor a single suitor to waylay my evening with a flower or three.”

“Only me,” Odin said mournfully, shaking his head.

“Only you,” Laslow agreed, smirking, and he saw how tired Owain was then, and hoped it was his performance, regaling the public with magic and mystery, but he knew it was the war, the ever present ones they’d fought through. He wondered if he would ever feel so comfortable as to compliment his friend, the growing wrinkles at his eyes, the stubble of his beard, the mouthwatering line of muscle revealed by his boastful outfit. He licked his lips. “My vexatious tormentor. Are you headed to sleep?”

Owain saw that the question had two answers. The first was an affirmative, though he would go to his room and stare at the ceiling, perhaps retreat to the library and spend his last few hours in this realm reading more and more of foreign magic as their time grew short. The second was a negative, and perhaps he and Laslow could find somewhere that drink still flowed, and they could pretend to lose themselves in tankards while he made a show of failing to find them dates and he either made a friend of the barman or annoyed him until they were both ejected into the night. However, something inside him overflowed, and Owain found himself seeking to fight the beasts of trepidation and consideration — perhaps he had already won, and it was their blood that had filled him with their ferocious candor as he asked, “Do you know I’m in love with you?”

Laslow’s eyes blinked wide, lashes casting a flickering shadow across his cheekbones.

“Owa—Odin,” he objected. “You can’t—” He huffed, frustrated, taking to his feet. “We fight against each other with every step.” He hid his eyes in his hands and then slowly adjusted his head as he admitted aloud, “I fight against commitment with every breath.”

“When do we not fight towards a common goal — against the forces of darkness, together?” Owain asked with a small smile, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the insides of his spread knees. “My confession need not change anything between us, it certainly doesn’t mean to change anything about you. My affection has grown even as you’ve found joy and rejection with your strings of lovers. And I’ve found that I can love you — that I do,” he swallowed, “love you. I’m saying it too much now.”

“There is nothing consistent in our lives,” Inigo said, sad and distressed. He wrapped his right arm around himself, squeezing at a shoulder, too muscled to feel right going back into his old life, too scarred to hope that wherever they found themselves in two days time that there would be the peace and family he’d hoped for. “I have gone days feeling as though everything around me is temporary, and others believing that this is what is real and it is me who doesn’t belong. We nearly failed. We—”

He hesitated as Owain stood before him, reaching out carefully to take hold of either of his elbows.

“We didn’t,” Owain said, calm and sure.

Time passed. Neither man could say how much. Patiently, Owain did not force an embrace, but he did rest his temple against Inigo’s, rocking his face towards him as he whispered, “And you’ve had some consistencies in your life. And me in mine.”

He waited longer, breathing deeply while his friend calmed in his arms, and then Inigo was lifting his left hand up to Owain’s hip and the mage smiled, letting his hands creep around the small of Inigo’s back, locking them together. “If I declared that I would dedicate my life to you, very little would change … and I think that’s very telling.”

“I feel good, with you,” Inigo murmured, tucking his face into the curve of Owain’s neck, “but my trysts don’t last and you—” he bit his lips, and as they rolled back into place he felt them pout against Owain’s skin, almost a kiss, “you’re too important for me to risk in a bout of bad behavior.”

Owain snickered. “Are you asking me to make sure you don’t grow bored? I think no matter what awaits us after tomorrow, I can promise it will be interesting.” He tossed his head back, and smiled wider as Inigo admired him; it was a wonderfully new feeling. “Do you think Odin Dark would settle for less? That the tale of the Avengers of Righteous Justice would end here?”

“Avengers?” Inigo repeated, pulling away from the embrace.

“I don’t forget my friends,” Owain assured him, but Inigo continued.

“And, really, I rather hoped that my tale might end. In some manner of the word… I want to rest. I want to feel the relief that these people felt, that our parents felt when their journey was over. To find a stage to dance upon, perhaps a student to apprentice while I’m still young enough to perform.”

“Then we will find it,” Owain said with conviction, his hands on Inigo’s shoulders. “A place where Selena can be a tired old general, or an extension of nobility, where our friends are close, and our families closer still, and where I study all the magic that has ever beset us with worry — that of gods, and dragons, and travel between realms—”

“Is this why you sought to be a mage?” Inigo balked, holding the dips at Owain’s elbows.

“All to keep us safe,” Owain said cryptically, blue eyes flickering with withheld words. “I will work tirelessly to make that peaceful realm you dream of, friend.”

“I can’t expect you to vanquish evil on your own,” Inigo said, a measure of wonder on his face. A puff of air passed his lips, joy and shock and hope twisting his lips first in a frown and then in a smile. “Very well then. Together, this time. We’ll start this tale together, as we’ve always been.”

“Then—?” Owain prompted, hopeful.

“Of course,” Inigo assured him, pulling himself into Owain’s space again, this time to plant a kiss on his warm lips. “I’ve loved you too. You need only look to your side — if you truly wish to take me as I am … then you will always find me here.”

[iam93percentstardust]

hey! i hope you’re having an amazing day. this is just me popping in your inbox to say that’s youre one of my favourite writers and you got me really interested in winteriron (honestly one of the cutest ships) are there any fics/authors ii could reccomend?

Hi there! Thank you so much! I love this ship so much, they’ve got such potential for both fluff and angst. They really are one of my favorite ships to write and I’m glad I was able to write so much for them this year. I certainly do have plenty of recs for you, starting with my favorite authors:

@riotwritesthings: started writing last year, I highly recommend just about everything Riot writes but especially Road Hazards, Melt into Me (Your Words are My Own), and When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it)

@hddnone: so many stories and all so good! Has nearly 100 Winteriron works on ao3 and you will not regret reading any of them, though fair warning that some of them are Team Cap Critical. Especially recommend Honey Pot, You’ve Got Mail, and A Bit(e) of Danger

@monobuu: mostly an artist but sometimes writes stories as well. i recommend Ravioli, Invincible Summer, and Meet the Fam

@tisfan and @27dragons: can’t make a Winteriron rec list without including the both of them. They work together a lot but you should definitely take a look at their own stuff as well. I recommend Safe and (the) Sound, Kiss Me Thru the Phone, and Stark, Naked

@ad1thi: currently taking a bit of a hiatus and working on non-Marvel works but I love everything Adi writes, particularly her entire Bollywood but Make it Gay series, which isn’t always Winteriron but wonderful nonetheless. I recommend the Greek Gods AU, 1000 Lives (For You), and we’re connected

@the-winter-writer: lots of smut and all absolutely fantastic! I like Precious Treasure, Winter Wings, and Instinct

@rayshippouuchiha: definitely an iconic writer for this fandom. Really great if you’re looking for genderbends. Writes a lot of absolutely incredible fics and not just for Winteriron but my personal favorites are The (Not So) Great Pretender, Fearful Symmetry, and The Mistletoe Kiss Polka

Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar): once again very iconic. you’ve probably read at least one of their works even if didn’t know. I recommend Shameless, Today’s Forecast, and Practice Makes Perfect

@lovelyirony: mostly writes ficlets here on tumblr and a multishipper (I don’t know why I’m saying that like it’s a bad thing, I’m a multishipper), also a fan of Sharon Carter and that’s the thing that made me follow her so you know

@amethystinawrites: I only recently started working their works but I’m loving everything I’ve come across so far. I recommend Tech Support and I Won’t Hold My Breath

AvocadoLove: also writes a lot of Stony and Stuckony, which I love a lot, but for their Winteriron works, I recommend Amalgam and Dead Man’s Switch

Dracusfyre: another one I’m new to. I literally just started reading their works today so I don’t have any recs for them yet but one of my friends loves them so I’m going to go with you should definitely take a look at their works

Eirlyssa: has some anti-Team Cap works so keep an eye out for that if that’s not your thing but writes very good Winteriron. I recommend Guide Me Home (Guide My Heart) and Always (I’ll Be There)

@imposter-human: one of the first MCU blogs I ever followed! I recommend childhood memories, speak my language, and lost in translation

As for specific works I like:

Four Strings and Second Chances by Vashoth

It was reluctance to let one of his finest inventions ever out of his grasp that made him take a couple days over a week to send the arm to Pepper’s office. But all things considered, Tony figured that sending finest prosthetic that had ever come into existence--literally grasping an olive branch--was one of the classiest gifts he’d ever given. He’d included a note and everything. ‘Barnes,

Can help with installation. Or not. Up to you. --Stark'

Who is the Mechanic? by @akira-of-the-twilight

The Asset watched as his handlers brought in a stranger—a man with a metal object stuck to his chest that was hooked to a car battery.

The handlers shoved the man onto the stool where many who had operated on the Asset’s arm in the past had sat before.

“Asset,” one handler said, “meet the Mechanic. He will be responsible for the upkeep of your arm. Should anything malfunction, kill him.”

The Asset eyed the Mechanic. The Mechanic was glassy-eyed and unresponsive.

He’d probably be dead in a week.

The Fix by SleepsWithCoyotes

Right, because Tony...Tony fixes things. He remembers thinking that, not for the first time.

Paths are Made by Walking by @potrix-the-queerschlaeger

The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best.

Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

The Evidence by StrivingArtist

Didn’t notice. Right. Sure. Two brilliant minds, two super spies, and a god didn’t notice when the chattiest man they knew stopped making sound. They just seemed happier than before. Brighter and more cheerful than before. They just seemed like they were more comfortable with him around when he was stone silent.

Fuck it.

He knew they noticed.

And he knew they liked him better this way.

Shadowed Hearts and Winter Souls by NotEvenCloseToStraight

The mid-1800s and Antonio Carbonell Stark is caught in a scandal with his lover. Desperate for a chance to escape the trouble and his own broken heart, Tony accepts a proposal from a mysterious Russian heiress and flees the country.

Natalia Romanova is in trouble of her own and has enough secrets to make Tony's head spin but somehow they settle into a fake marriage and calm day-to-day together, and everything works... until her half brother comes home and their life is disrupted again.

James is somber and silent, brutal and nearly broken and scarred, a soldier of the resistance. His heart is cold and gaze like ice, but his hands are hot and lips are warm and Tony finds himself ignoring the blood on James's palms and the shadows in his soldier’s eyes, and falling in love.

When danger lands at their doorstep, Natalia and Tony have to pack up and leave, running away in the middle of the night and leaving their men behind.

The distance between Tony and James gets longer every day, and Natalia has been keeping a secret for that can’t be hidden much longer. With no place to call home and a thousand miles between them and the men they love, what are Tony and Natalia supposed to do?

Puppy Love by Reioka

Bucky is learning to become a person again. When some guy starts crying all over Natasha's dog, he decides he's doing better than he originally thought.

Describe Your Perfect Date by ali_aliska

After getting turned down by Bucky, Tony decides it’s time to move on from his massive crush. He tries online dating—Pepper’s idea, not his—but the only thing worse than getting rejected is getting rejected and finding out your soulmate-level match is Clint Barton, all in the same day.

Clint, of course, does not let opportunities like this go to waste, but he’s driving Tony nuts for a good cause, he swears.

Bucky’s just trying to do the right thing and fails spectacularly, but it all works out in the end.

Rocket Science by marsmaywonder and orbingarrow

Sleep-deprived and under-caffeinated, grad student Tony falls asleep in a conveniently empty classroom and wakes up in the middle of Bruce’s Physics 101 course. After seeing a groggy Tony fumble a simple question, actual-student Bucky offers to tutor him. In a moment of “oh no; he’s cute” panic, Tony takes him up on it. Now, in addition to his already complicated life, Tony has to figure out the answer to the incredibly messy question: “How do you look like you’re failing the class, when you literally wrote the book?”

What’s Good for the Goose by Taste_is_Sweet

For this nonny prompt at the Imagine Tony and Bucky comm on Tumblr:

"A soulmate AU where an immortal goose shows up one day to lead you to your soulmate, the challenge is surviving the goose." (Full prompt in notes.)

We all have soulmates, and every soulmate pair shares an animal guide. The Guide is there to lead you to your One True Love, and they represent the aspects of the psyche that you both share. They appear when you're about to meet your soulmate, and often materialize in moments of great personal crisis, offering hope and support. There are stories upon stories about how someone's Guide appeared to lead them to their One True, or how the barest glimpse of their Guide eased their hearts and gave them hope in the midst of despair. The newly-rescued almost always attribute their Guide with giving them the strength and courage to hang on.

Animal Guides are ephemeral, ethereal, and elusive. They are, most often, no more than a warm presence or flicker out of the corner of one's eye. They are incarnate symbols of perseverance, optimism and hope. Foretellers of happiness, and the grand destiny of love.

Except for geese. Geese are assholes.

and so, we unfold by TheKitteh

Senbazuru. Thousand Cranes.

An ancient Japanese legend that promises anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.

Bucky’s not big on believing in any legends, not after all that has happened. He just wants to create something for a change, not destroy.

He needs to prove himself that he can be trusted to handle something delicate. He doesn’t need a promise of a wish come true. He just,- needs to do this for himself.

He doesn’t need noticing how sad, tired Stark looks. Doesn’t need to want to do something for the man, when he can barely do anything for himself. --- Tony simply goes through days and motions. He deals with the Avengers, with R&;D, with the rewritten Accords. All of it, it’s nothing new really. He just wants to get things done.

What’s new is seeing Barnes hunched over the coffee table, one step away from ripping a glossy magazine apart in the middle of the night.

And why the hell Barnes keeps looking at him during the days after like he’s a puzzle to be solved?

Welcome to the Winteriron fandom! We’ve got a lot of incredible authors and artists both and this is just the tip of the iceberg!

[melodypond-thewomanwhomarriedme]

Can I request “You’re important too.” + “It doesn’t bother me.” + doctor/river??

She never felt this self-conscious before.

Well, not when it came to River - especially when it came to River. River loved her in every body before this and why shouldn't she do the same just because a few things changed down there?

Still, she couldn't help the niggle of doubt circling the back of her mind. She'd had over three days to prepare for this - for seeing her for the first time after the Library planet was set to self-destruct to prevent the Vashta Nerada from spreading beyond the planet.

She still recalled the dazed way in which she stumbled to the nurses of the Infinite Schism, begging to see River and demanding that she be told what happened. The feline nurses gently patted her hand and assured her that River would be fine, but she needed immediate and careful attention, and subsequent procedures were to take over 80 hours at most.

She was almost glad that she dropped off Yaz, Ryan and Graham before answering their call. She didn't know what she would say to them if they were here - explaining that she was married and that her wife had died - but apparently not - was not the conversation she wanted to be having right now.

And River - River. Her brilliant wife. Her clever, beautiful, utterly amazing wife. She was here. Right here, somewhere in this hospital, weak and unsteady but wonderfully, blessedly alive.

The Doctor never, ever allowed herself to think what would happen if this happened again. Never allowed herself to hope - but oh, of course her amazing wife did the job herself. She never waited for anyone, least of all the Doctor. She ran on her own time, she followed her own plan, and the Doctor was never happier about that fact than she was now.

So when one of the nurses finally approached her to say that River was fine and resting in one of the rooms, the Doctor found herself trembling slightly as she walked slowly towards her. It was hard to comprehend that every step she took brought her closer and closer to the incredible reality that was River Song, alive.

She looked down at herself and wondered if she would recognize her - she hadn't recognised her in her previous body. She didn't know that she's regenerated since Darillium. Would she be disappointed that she was a woman?

The Doctor doubted so - River never was that fussy about genders or sexuality, but she thought about it all the same. It was hard, she supposed, to predict how her wife would react after a century of not seeing her - longer, in the computer.

The door was slightly ajar as the Doctor approached the room cautiously. She didn't know why she shook with the anticipation of seeing River; couldn't understand why her hearts palpitated as if she were confronting some long sworn enemy. She just forced herself to look ahead, and she peeked inside the room.

She didn't consider herself the emotional kind. Compared to Bowtie, she was fairly in control of her feelings. She could hold her tears when she wanted to, stomp down her anger when she needed and feigned indifference countless times in front of the fam.

But the sight of River in the room, her hair spread on the pillow and sleeping, brought tears to her eyes instantly. Flashes of River sleeping in their bed in the Tardis, in their house in Darillium, in various hotels all over times and space flashed across her mind at a rapid pace.

She gripped the doorknob tighter and swallowed, breathing deeply. She watched, marvelled, as River's chest rose and fell as she took in deep breaths, and it was all the Doctor could do not to run to River and sob over her, to shake her and make her promise never to leave her side again.

Before the Doctor could even take a step, however, River stirred. The Doctor froze at the door, unable to move as River blinked blearily.

"Sweetie," she croaked, her voice rough and coarse. She barely seemed to notice her surroundings, her eyes hazy as they swept over the room, unseeing. "Sweetie, please."

She closed her eyes again.

The Doctor seemed to stumble forwards, flailing helplessly as she tried to cross the room in as little time as possible. Her vision was blurred by the tears rapidly building in her eyes and she collapsed by the side of River's bed, grasping onto a high-backed chair.

Her lips trembled as she looked over her wife and studied her closely. She was pale, so pale she looked almost ghost-like. Her lips were dry and chapped, and the hospital gown was overly large for her, but all the Doctor could see was her. River.

Hesitantly, she reached out to touch River's face. The instant she made contact with her skin, tears poured out of her eyes. She was warm. She was warm and real and safe.

Her hands trailed to her hair, combing the curly tresses out of her face and fanning it out neatly along her pillow, carefully avoiding the various tubes attached to her.

"Hello, sweetie." she whispered to her shakily. Her lips trembled as she tried to smile down at her wife, but the amount of tears she was producing made it impossible for her to appear happy in any way. "You're home."

Almost as though the Doctor's voice had awoken her, River started to stir again. This time her eyes blinked the haziness away and she focused immediately upon the Doctor, staring at her with a mixture of awe, happiness, relief and fear.

"Doctor," she croaked again, her voice still weak and hoarse. "Doctor, you've changed."

The Doctor looked down at her fondly, stroking her hair sweetly. "You haven't. Still getting yourself into trouble."

River smiled, and the Doctor felt her hearts soar at her expression. "Always." She looked the Doctor up and down. "A woman?"

The Doctor smiled hesitantly. "Like the upgrade?"

"It certainly doesn't bother me," River said. The Doctor is in awe at her ability to inject even an ounce of suggestiveness when she's lying in a hospital death, having nearly escaped the brush of death.

She beamed at her wife, sniffing slightly. "I'm glad you're here, River."

River nods. "Me too, darling."

"I should let you rest." the Doctor starts, reluctantly removing her hand from River's hair and replacing it by her side. "But I will be here, River. Whenever you need me, I promise I'll be right here until you're ready to go home."

"You don't need to stay, sweetie," River said, her voice getting weaker but her eyes more determined. "I promise I'll be just fine until you come back from whatever important business you've got going on."

"You're the important business, River," the Doctor replied. "You're important too. In fact, you're the most important business I have. Everyone else needs an appointment, you know?"

"Don't I feel special," she teased, but it was clear that the drowsiness was slowly taking hold of her again as her eyes started drooping slightly. "Doctor." she whispered, as she slid into slumber once more.

"Hmm?" the Doctor asked softly, reaching out to take River's hand in hers.

"I'm glad you're here."

[crowdedimagines]

Welcome to the Band - Harry Styles

2.7k 🤩

~

“Welcome to Harry Styles Love on Tour.” Jeff grins.

“Thank you, I really couldn’t be more grateful for this opportunity.”

I walk out of his office and notice Mitch sitting on the floor waiting for me to exit. I’m surprised he wasn’t sitting there with his ear pressed to the door.

“How’d it go?” He asks, suddenly getting up.

“I’m in!” I smile.

“Holy shit!” He pulls me in for a hug so tight my feet lift off of the ground, “Welcome to the band!”

“Yeah, I guess it’s paid off having to deal with you all these years.” I tease, punching his shoulder lightly as he puts me back down.

“Fuck off.” He laughs.

He knows I’m teasing, I owe him big time for this. I’ve known him for years, before he ever even met Harry. Once his world blew up and he became a more professional musician, I couldn’t have been more excited. He was finally living our dream.

Once they had an emergency with Adam, their previous bassist, where he wasn’t able to tour with them Mitch asked me to come in.

That random Sunday night I had no clue what I was walking into. I had no clue that I was going to be meeting Harry Styles and the rest of the band to see if we would mesh well together. I had no clue that I was going to be tested in my skill and in my personality. I’ve never been so nervous to be myself, but Mitch made it ten times easier. We spent hours talking and playing random melodies. I’ve never met a group of people that I felt so comfortable with so quickly.

It’s only been a few days since we had our little jam session and now it looks like I’ve got the gig. I know they looked into a few different people after me. Mitch said Harry was sold on me after I was there for ten minutes, but Jeff made them interview a few other people so they wouldn’t just be taking the first candidate and Mitch’s best friend. Mitch claimed no one else could compare, but I feel like he just has to say that.

I have only two weeks to find someone to sublet my apartment and pack so I can leave for a world wide tour. It’s so sudden and exciting, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’ve always been a fan of spontaneity.

“Congratulations.” A voice calls over my shoulder.

“Thank you.” I turn to face Harry and he pulls me in for a half hug.

“I’m really glad that you’ll be joining us.” He smiles, “We’re lucky to have you.”

Two weeks go by faster than you could ever imagine. Before I know it we’re hoping on a plane to go to the UK and officially start the tour.

“Nervous?” A voice calls from behind me.

“It’s that obvious?” I grin looking at him through the mirror in front of me. I set down the mascara I was about to use.

“No, I just had a feeling. I wanted to come check in on you. Plus Sarah and Mitch are already out the green room. You were missing.”

He’s so sweet.

“I’m fine, I’ve performed a thousand times, but never to quite this scale.” I stop talking and you can hear the crowd screaming loudly over King Princess. I can only imagine how deafening it’ll be when we’re on stage. “It’s a bit intimidating being part of your entourage if I’m being honest.”

He laughs and looks down at his shoes.

“Yeah, it can always be a bit scary going out there. It’s a bit higher stakes, but that’s higher reward. Just you wait until you hear them all sing along with you.”

“You’re telling me you still get nervous?” I turn in my seat so I can actually look at him.

“Everytime. In the best way though, just a bit of butterflies I guess.” He places a hand on my shoulder, “I wouldn’t worry. I’ve seen you practicing non stop to catch up, you’ve only been practicing this music for a few weeks, and we were traveling most of that anyway, and yet it’s as if you’ve been playing it for years. I have faith in you, Y/n.”

“Thank you.” I smile.

“I’ll see you out there.” Harry takes a few backwards steps towards the door, “Good luck, love.”

Harry couldn’t have been more right. I’ve never felt more a part of something than when Harry simply lets them sing while we continue playing. Their voices fill the arena and I look out on all of the smiling faces.

“Alright, I can’t continue this without introducing you to a few people.”

The crowd roars as Harry walks over to Mitch. He gives a little intro and moves on to Sarah until finally it’s my turn.

“Last, but certainly not least we have our newbie, Miss Y/n Y/Ln.” He rests his arm across my shoulder. I roll my eyes and play a small rift just like the other two did.

“It’s her first time playing a world tour, I have to say I think she’s doing quite a marvelous job. Don’t you?”

The crowd roars even louder than before, it’s all I can hear. All of the faces grinning back, waving at me once they notice my stare. The feeling is unmatched to anything else I’ve experienced. Harry looks back at me, my face filled with awe, a grin takes over his face as well. All too soon the very first concert of the tour is over.

“Oh my god!” I yell as soon as we’re off stage.

Mitch pulls me in for a hug.

“You did great.”

“That was crazy!” I say, still in shock.

“Well done.” Harry greets, “I told you, high risk high reward.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me along for this. I can’t even put into words how cool that was.” I leave Mitch’s hold to pull Harry into a hug.

“You’re more than welcome, thank you for joining us on tour.” He wraps his arms tighter around me.

After that we spend weeks on the road, nearly a different city every night. I couldn’t be happier, the high of each show has yet to wear off. I’ve grown more comfortable as we continue as well. Sarah and I are practically sisters at this point, we’ve bonded about having to be stuck with the boys all the time. Mitch and I were always close, I’m glad to be able to spend so much time with him now. And then there’s Harry. Probably the person that I spend the most time with on tour. Whether it is him taking me to his favorite restaurant in the city or just a rom com in his hotel room after a long night. We’ve become really close friends, even if sometimes it feels as if we could cross that line.

“This is Madison Square Garden!” I yell, walking towards the edge of the stage, looking out over all of the empty seats.

We’ve been back in the States for a while and it makes me happy. We’re officially halfway finished with the tour, which is crazy. It still feels like we’ve only just begun.

“Sold out.” Harry comments, talking slow steps behind me.

“And it’s not the first time for you either.” I roll my eyes with a smile. We have three back to back performances here.

“Hey.” He nudges my shoulder with his.

“Hey.” I nudge him back.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, we both take a seat on the edge of the stage. The crew works around to set up around us.

“This is crazy.” I shake my head in disbelief, “This time six months ago I was begging to perform in small clubs in L.A. I was a part of a band that literally no one had heard of. Now I’m here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” He agrees, “It wouldn’t have been much longer. Someone would’ve discovered you. I’m just glad I scored you when I did.”

“Is that so?” I absentmindedly swing my feet, bumping my feet into Harry’s every once and a while making us both chuckle.

“It is. I don’t even know what this tour would be like without you.” We both peel our eyes away from the empty seats. Suddenly we are much closer together than I remember. He leans in and I tilt my head up towards him, his breath warming up my cheek as both of us are nearly out of breath with anticipation. This is something we’ve been waiting months for.

Just as I’m about to close my eyes, I realize exactly where we are and what we are about to do. I don’t know if I can cross this line. He’s Harry Styles, I’m a part of his band. The crew is still setting up the lighting behind us, we aren’t alone and if things don’t end well I am stuck with him for several more months.

“Maybe you should start getting ready.” I smile pulling back ever so slightly. I quickly get up from the edge of the stage trying to put some distance between us, “I know how long it takes you.”

“Let me take you on a date.” He doesn’t even seem to hear what I say, or if he does he doesn’t care to change the subject, his smile never fades for a second. He stays in the exact same position, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips. Slowly he gets up and suddenly he’s towering over me at his normal height.

“Isn’t dating a bandmate strictly against band rules?” I ask.

“Only if you don’t want to fall in love with me it is.” He smirks proudly.

“Wow, the ego.” I laugh, taking a hesitant step back from him, “Are we sure that you’re not the one who’s fallen?”

“I never said that I hadn’t.” His steps match mine, until I stop taking steps back. I’m pretty sure if I back up anymore I’ll run into an amp. Finally he’s close enough where I can feel his warm breath on my cheek again.

“Really?” I arch my brow, leaning my head up towards his.

“Really.” He confirms, tilting his head down ever so slightly, “So what do you say?”

“Y/n?” Mitch’s voice calls out loudly from somewhere backstage.

“Saved by the bell.” I tease, finally escaping. I quickly walk off to find Mitch for whatever he needed. I don’t have the courage to turn around, but I can feel Harry’s stare as I go.

Once I find Mitch I discover he just needed help restringing one of his guitars for tonight. I haven’t seen Harry since earlier. We already did soundcheck so that means he’s off somewhere getting dressed and ready for tonight. Mitch and I hang out in the large green room snacking on everything in sight. Sarah has disappeared somewhere to flirt with someone from security.

“I need to talk to you about something.” I turn to Mitch.

“Is it about you and Harry?” He asks making my jaw drop.

“How did you-how? What?” I stutter out confused how he already knew what I needed to talk to him about.

“You two have been into each other since the tour started!” He laughs, “I was just waiting for you to come to terms with it. Harry told me about it weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I smack his shoulder.

“Ouch!” He rubs at the now sore spot, “You are both my friends, I wasn’t going to throw him under the bus. What happened? Why are you acting weird tonight?”

“I’m acting weird because we almost kissed and he asked me out on a date, but then I bolted.”

“You ran away? But you like him.”

“I know. It was dumb, but what am I supposed to do? So we go out on a few dates and then things are weird between us for the rest of the tour and then he doesn’t want me back to be in the band for the future. It’s not an option, I don’t want to go back to performing to people who don’t care.”

“Or maybe you go out on a few dates and things go amazing and then you get to finish tour with your boyfriend and finally be happy.” Mitch smiles.  “Harry is a good guy, you know this. Even if things don’t work out you two are mature enough to be alright. I have faith in you that you’ll be fine.”

“You’re right.” I nod.

“I always am. It doesn’t matter, you two are already practically dating anyway.”

“We are not-”

“So what do we think?” Harry asks, making an entrance as always, debuting a brand new suit courtesy of Gucci. Similarly to his first solo tour he was wearing exclusively Gucci outfits that look killer on stage and scream Harry.

“Looks good.”

“I like it, very handsome.”

Harry’s head snaps up to look at me after hearing my comment last.

“Thank you.” His cheeks tinted pink.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask, suddenly getting up from the couch.

“Yeah.” He starts to walk out of the room and I follow.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier.” I apologize, “I do like you, but I’m just nervous what exactly comes with that.”

“I understand completely” He nods, “You don’t need to apologize either. I get it, you needed time to think things over. I can respect that. So, about that date?”

“I would love to go on a date with you.” I grin.

“Thank god.” He sighs and pulls me in for a tight hug. I relax into it, finding an unmatched amount of comfort of being in his arms. Wordlessly I pick my head up from his chest and look up at him, he tilts his head down.

“Guys! You’re on in two minutes! We’ve been looking for you!” Mitch yells loudly standing at the end of the hallway we had been tucked away in.

“I’m going to kill Mitch if he keeps talking you away from me right when we’re about to kiss.” Harry whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later.” I grin, pulling on his hand to follow me. I practically skip while dragging him as the adrenaline starts pumping, “But right now, we need to go out there and perform for a few thousand people.”

“You don’t sound too heartbroken.”

“Trust me, I am.” I say looking over my shoulder, “Watching you dance around and sing on stage tonight is going to kill me, the same way it does every other night.”

“Really?” He pulls back on my hand, no longer letting me lead him to the stage, “Does it get to you?”

I nod as he slowly back me into a wall.

“Because it bothers me too. Not being able to touch you at all. Not knowing how soft your lips are. Not knowing how you taste.”

“Maybe we could be a little late.” I pull his head down towards mine and finally we kiss. After all these months, it’s fireworks. My lips are buzzing and my whole body feels on fire once Harry deepens it. My hands thread up through his hair that I’m sure was perfectly styled a half an hour ago. His hands wrap around me, trying to pull me closer.

“You guys! Really!” Mitch screams, causing us both to scramble and pull away, “Seriously! We we’re supposed to be out there a minute ago! Let’s go.”

This time he doesn’t leave us, he grabs my upper arm to drag me to the stage. Harry and I can’t help but laugh as Mitch mutters comments to us about how are already the most annoying couple.

I go to my spot and slide the strap of my bass over and catch Harry looking at me from his spot. He grins a perfectly Harry smirk. I motion for him to wipe at his lips, catching a hint of lip gloss from the short distance. I roll my eyes as he blows a kiss back. Before I know it, the screen is lifting up and the screams get louder. And so the night begins.

let me know what you think below 💖 part two? 

[dirthavarens]

more au solavellan thoughts

i really like the idea of solas being more open with mirani after he tells her the truth in crestwood. more open with his feelings, more open about the past, more open with his expressions and love. 

**

i imagine he steals her away from camp in the middle of the night in the exalted plains to climb some rock formation (because of course now he’s going to use his magic nearly to its fullest and bend the earth around him to essentially form a staircase). she giggles and marvels at his magic, wondering if she can do the same. that’s for later. 

for now he wishes to show her the sky as only he can see it. when blue and black meshed with soft wisps of emerald and gold. when the fade didn’t ooze like an infected wound, but coursed through reality like blood in her veins, air in her lungs. 

certainly they can do this at camp, but he likes the quiet and so does she. not to mention there would be the prying eyes of curious guards and scouts.

no, it’s best to do this away from others, where only they exist. they talk and study the sky, occasionally become distracted by one another, until she falls asleep on his chest. when she “wakes” it’s into the world as he knew it. even in dreams, the sweet song of magic is everywhere. it blooms around her, rippling like waves on a pond. in this version of the fade, they are free and her magic is boundless. 

**

cole always has more to say when mira knows the truth. he’s happier, freer than before. as a spirit of compassion it’s good to see his friend healing despite the hurt. scarring over despite the burning from within. she helps mend his heart, sooth his soul. fen’atisha, he calls her one day while they’re in the frostbacks. “the wolf’s peace” 

cassandra doesn’t understand, though she hardly ever questions cole after he becomes more of a spirit. solas tells him to dismiss the notion, but agrees in his subtle ways. mira takes a liking to the offhanded title. it gives her hope for the future and what is to pass. she tries not to think of his plans; focuses on corypheus and ameridan and the deep roads instead. 

**

their nights together at skyhold are passionate and tender. satisfied bodies lined in sweat with heavy breaths nestling close together under the covers as sweet nothings are whispered between humming lips. 

he always wakes first, a habit from many years in his life before the veil. he watches her as she sleeps, knowing that her dreams are pleasant by the soft smile she wears. in truth, solas could die a happy man if he were to stay there. but there is a burden on his shoulders he wishes to carry alone. he is the lone wolf, the trickster, the heretic. how can he have such an extraordinary spirit with him on such a dark journey? 

he knows he can leave, knows he can turn and run, but his pride won’t allow for such a cowardly move now. not when she’s all but sworn her life to him. hers was a life he would never take willingly, yet she gave it to him anyway. surely the monster he is to become will open her eyes. 

such thoughts plague his mind often, but not often enough for her kiss to taste bitter or her words to sound like sour notes. no, she’s his perfect song. she spins a tapestry of peace and serenity around him, hanging it in the great halls of his too heavy soul. she’s opened the doors and allowed fresh air into weary and ancient bones. a new hope. 

when he eases out of bed, she protests in her sleep, grumbling in elvish as she reaches for him. 

“hamin, vhenan. there is time in the day for us yet,” he’ll coo as sweetly as the doves that gather in the courtyard. she’s content to hear his voice and doesn’t stir further while he dresses. he conjures a fire in place of the ashes that settled earlier in the morning and sets off for the kitchen to gather her breakfast. 

the cook never bothers him as he’s content to stay out of her way as he gathers fruits and breads and cooks up eggs. solas wants to leave the tea out intentionally, but she delights in the abhorrent substance, so it comes along. 

of course there are dignitaries already about in the main hall, trying to gather fresh information about the inquisitor’s private life, but solas can’t be bothered to stop and answer questions or give their idle gossip any purchase. 

a knife-ear inquisitor would want a knife-ear lover, and they’re both mages. why wouldn’t they stay together? after all, birds of a feather. the words roll off of him like water off a duck’s back. 

she’s never woken up to such treatment before solas came about. breakfast in bed doesn’t happen often, but he’s at least certain to bring her a morning tea. he brings her a feast on this morning and she wakes when she hears the door close behind him. his footfalls are careful, practiced, graceful as he ascends the steps. 

“i hoped you still slept,” solas says when he sees her sitting up in bed. she doesn’t bother to cover her bare breasts in his company. unabashed, unashamed, free. 

“planning on eating all of that yourself, were you?” she quips back, not missing a beat even as she stretches. he watches a little too eagerly as her form peeks from beneath the sheets. 

“i thought i could wash it down with the tea once i had my fill.” sarcasm. 

he slides into bed next to her and they slip easily into comfortable silence as they eat. 

the plate and cup are set on the table to be taken downstairs. solas’ clothes again find their way to the floor and he into the bed. 

her giggles turn to soft breaths that turn to his name moaned in delicate reverence.

**

thanks i’m turning that last one into a fic now. tah darlings.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Onyx and Yvette sneaking away from respective troupes to either have secret rendez-vous and/or stealthily watching one another’s shows and cheering each other on.

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

The crowd was wild, though that was a familiar sight for Yvette. She could take a moment to admire them because her part had ended a few seconds ago, and she had a few minutes while Vinca coaxed excited ‘ohhh’s and 'ahhhh’s with her performance.

Lazareth pressed a small glass of water against her palm, gave her a quick smile, and joined Vinca on stage. How the two of them worked together was quite the sight, and Yvette allowed herself a fond, happy smile as she watched them coax secrets from strangers with ease, watched how Lazareth’s low voice boomed through the stage, how the crowd leaned in as Vinca teased them…

Her smile turns into a smirk at the crowd’s expressions. Their excitement. The way the air vibrates with their shouts. The way a particular shadow ducks low, almost invisible-

Her eyes narrow, her grip on the glass tightening slightly.

Who was that? Wrath, maybe? Here to ruin the show and act all mighty? Oh, how very interesting-

But then their gazes meet and Yvette’s hand - which was raised in an attempt to get Lazareth’s attention - quickly falls.

Sparkling green. More beautiful and more alive than anything this world could offer. Just gazing at them, even for the a small second, is enough to get her heart racing quicker than the show ever could.

“Are you feeling it, everyone? Are you?” Vinca asks, somewhere on her left. Yvette is suddenly reminded that she is still onstage, she still has an act to do, and if she had noticed then Vinca surely-

The shadowy figure makes a movement with her hand which distracts Yvette more than it probably should. Onyx has that effect on her, she’s found. Anything she does captivates Yvette’s whole being, so it takes a second for her to interpret its meaning.

Continue on with the show, Onyx says with nothing but a flick of her wrist, and maybe this is a huge gamble – many things could go wrong – but Yvette finds herself invigorated by the idea that Onyx will watch her perform. It’s a silly notion, because Onyx has seen her back when the troupe was still together, but this time is different. It’s more special. More thrilling.

“-didn’t you? What a naughty guy you are! If she’d known, I bet-”

Her eyes flick to the side, where Vinca is finishing her act with Lazareth, where their voices continue the restless teasing to their last “volunteer”.

When she tries to find Onyx again she finds her gone. A shadow. A memory.

She smiles.

Well, this certainly is interesting.

…

“Hey girl, how does an impromptu autograph session sound?” Vinca asks as soon as the show ends, and the people that still lingered let out shrieks that smolder Vinca’s smirk. Yvette suppresses a fond huff at the sight, because really, Vinca’s ego doesn’t need to grow anymore. It’s big enough.

“It sounds marvelous, Vinca, but I’ll sit this one out.”

“You sure?”

“I have plans.”

Her eyebrows rise. “But you told me that-”

“I"ll be off, now.”

Vinca rolls her eyes at her dismissal, her attention already on the small crowd of people waiting for her.

“Well then! Let’s go down to the casino and have some fun, yeah?”

Yvette slows her step just enough to confirm Vinca and Lazareth are out of sight, and then scrutinizes her surroundings with an eagerness she hadn’t felt until now. The need to see Onyx, to hear her voice, to hold her hand were nearly overwhelming. Each second that passed was like agony, because what if something had gone wrong, what if a demon had-

“Yvette.”

Oh.

Her eyes finally find her, find her beauty hidden beneath clothes she normally wouldn’t wear, and she feels like the whole world is suddenly brighter. Lighter. Happier. Worth protecting.

“Onyx, it’s wonderful to see you.” She closes the distance between them with grace and elegance and she absolutely does not run like a thief that just spotted a priceless treasure. Or at least she hopes so. There’s so much she can do when Onyx is waiting for her and she can’t waste a single second of this unexpected visit.

“I’ve missed you!” Onyx chirps, her eyes bright like the sun, and Yvette is drawn to the way her smile turns up her lips, to the unexpected emotion that swells inside her at the sight.

It takes her an embarrassingly long amount of time to remember how to speak. The effect Onyx has on her is honestly ridiculous, but she doesn’t mind one bit.

“I’ve missed you, too. I do apologize for not arranging a date sooner.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve been busy… speaking of which, how was your trip?”

Yvette winces slightly at the memory. “Vuzgamad has a special gift for making everything go awry.” She huffs.

“So you didn’t find her?”

“No, she sent me through a wild goose chase through all of New York.” And she has many things to say about that trip, honestly, a rant she had subjected both Vinca and Lazareth to and had lasted for a good four hours, but mentioning anything else would only sour the mood. She hadn’t been able to see Onyx for almost a month, and she was not going to spend the short time they had talking about Vuzgamad. “But I did find many places I’d like to take you to.”

Onyx smile softens, like she’s marveling at her words. It’s a reaction that draws a bittersweet feeling from Yvette, because it means Onyx is still surprised by the fact that Yvette thinks about her outside of their dates. That she wants to spend more time with her.

She shouldn’t be surprised by that at all.

“T-that’s amazing!” Onyx finally says, when she breaks out of her brief stupor. “I… I’d like to go with you there, someday…”

Someday, when alliances with demons are but a memory.

Yvette squeezes her hand, smiling softly. “We will. Now, how did the research go? Did you find a way to cure Ripley?”

Onyx’s expression falls. “We haven’t. We’ve been looking everywhere with no luck.” She presses her lips together for a brief moment, before retrieving something from one of her pockets. A letter, which she holds out to her with hesitant movements. “She… Ripley sent you this.”

“I… she did?” Her voice comes out too small. Yvette clears her throat, trying to compose herself. “She knows.” Onyx flinches away, looking as though she expects Yvette to hit her. The movement is so sudden Yvette just stares at her, at first, and then carefully pulls her into a hug. “It’s okay, I’m not mad.”

“I… I can’t help it, the connection between us-”

“It’s okay, Onyx, Ripley deserves to know.” They all do, actually, but Ripley had been the most excited when Yvette quietly revealed to them one night – when Dorran and Onyx had gone out on a date and none of them were aware of what was really happening – that she was interested in the fashion designer. “I’d like to send her a letter too.”

Onyx nods against her, relieved, and they spent the rest of the night talking about other things while Yvette crafts a heartfelt apology backstage. Once she’s done and hands the letter over to Onyx, the atmosphere in the room lightens. Like they’ve both let go of a weight they didn’t know they were holding.

“I’ll need to read it for her… you don’t mind?”

“Not if it’s you.”

Onyx nods, solemn. “Do you… think we could meet again? Soon?”

Yvette opens her mouth to say yes, at the outskirts of town where they always met, and hesitates when something else occurs to her. “Keep your schedule open for tomorrow night.”

…

Turns out maintaining an illusion for an hour and a half was harder than Yvette had initially thought.

Then again, there wasn’t much else she could do. All the clothes she owned were meant to make her stand out, and even without them, her hair was enough to grab people’s attention. She’d be easily recognizable for the troupe, and that was something she had to avoid at all costs. The only one that was allowed to notice her – the only one Yvette wanted to notice – was Onyx.

And what a performance the other woman did! Yvette found herself captivated by her movements, how she handled herself on stage, how she pulled all of the stunts without barely any effort. She couldn’t afford to make herself known right away because of them – distracting Onyx could be fatal, even when Yvette had confidence in her girlfriend’s abilities.

She waited for Onyx’s act to end, and willed the illusion to disappear only for Onyx’s eyes. It didn’t take her long to find her among the crowd, and her expression softened with delight, with pure, unrestricted joy.

Yvette smirked at her, winked, and mouthed ‘you were amazing’ before putting up the illusion once again, amused with the way Onyx’s eyes widened with awe.

And later that night, when they were together and alone and safe, Yvette let herself get lost in Onyx’s wonderful stories, in her eyes, in her voice, in her pure, beautiful, sweet smile. For a moment, she can forget everything that’s happened, and be truly happy with the woman she loves, away from demons and shows and weapons.

[sweetest-honeybee]

To Hell and Back

Chapter 19

Summary: Hels and Wels get a bit of an examination, there’s a sappy apology, and Evil X accidentally confesses his love for Hels.

Characters: Helsknight, Welsknight, Evil Xisuma, Xisuma, Beef, Doc, and Tango

TW: None I think

—————————

Beef certainly wasn’t expecting Wels to look so...different already. When Doc landed and practically threw the knight into one of the back corners of the room, Wels glared at him through the wool with blood red snake eyes. Doc removed the cloth around his mouth. Wels grinned evilly at Beef, showing off a pair of fangs and licked them slowly.

“Hey, Beef, you gonna make me a little angel again?” He batted his eyelashes at the butcher. “Wouldn’t want me getting loose, huh?” He wriggled in his place on the floor while Doc tied his ankles together.

“He’s changing at a much faster pace than Hels is. That was so….sudden,” Beef observed.

“Yeah, where’s Hels, anyways?” Doc asked, noticing how the dark knight wasn’t on the table. Beef snickered, briefly distracted by the question from Wels’s current state.

“Went outside to play with the piglets. I made a pen out back a few days ago and the dude is obsessed with them apparently.”

“Ooo, sounds like someone plans on making bacon later,” Wels stated from the corner. The creeper gifted his teeth.

“Keep talking and your dinner will be more wool. Don’t think I won’t clock you too. Xisuma’s strong but he’s not mutant,” Doc replied without turning to look over his shoulder at Wels. Beef stared at Doc with wide eyes.

“Xisuma punched him?!”

The creeper shrugged. “Wels seems to know how to push his buttons. Got him right in the jaw twice and Evil Xisuma had to keep him to doing it again,” he chuckled.

“I- Okay then. Where’s Xisuma? I thought he was coming with Tango and Evil Xisuma.”

Doc rubbed his neck. “Xisuma must’ve gotten overwhelmed or something, I don’t know. He looked like he was gonna pass out so I just brought Wels here and had the other two take care of that.” Their communicators buzzed, catching their attention. Beef hummed.

“Speaking of the devil, here he comes.”

As if on cue, Xisuma, Tango and Ex landed in front of the doorway. As they walked in, Tango and Xisuma marveled at the cloning machine. Or well, whatever it was. They didn’t imagine Beef wanted more clones running around possibly causing more problems like this. Nonetheless, the machine in the center of the room was one crazy looking contraption.

“Hey guys!” Greeted Beef. “Hels is out back and Wels is in the corner over-“ Beef turned, now noticing how long the silence was lasting. As Beef looked, he didn’t find the knight in the corner. “Oh no.”

The others peered around the machine where Doc and Beef were searching. Only was it when Beef walked out the suspiciously ajar back door, did he find Wels completely free of his ropes in the small pig pen with Hels.

“Wels, how did you-“ Beef was interrupted by the loud squeak erupting from one of the piglets. Wels had one of them held in his arms with a grin.

“I didn’t know you had a pig pen over here! Look how cute the baby pigs are,” the knight cooed. Somehow he was even fine with Hels sitting next to him as well. Both held and petted the babies happily.

Now Beef was confused. Very confused. He stepped back inside, not even knowing how to behind to describe what had happened. He wasn’t even sure how Wels managed to get out of the ropes, let alone explain how his personality completely reversed from his previously sadistic self. Perhaps he only switched back and forth rather than being completely evil in the span of three days.

“He- He’s playing with the pigs. He’s in the pen with Hels and they’re playing with pigs.” The butcher rubbed the bridge of his nose. “His entire personality just did a full 180, too.”

The other three made their own confused expressions. Evil Xisuma, surprisingly to the other two, spoke up.

“That’s not surprising. When I found him he was freaking out about nearly killing Tango. Didn’t seem very evil to me.”

“So it’s not constant then….” Doc added. “That’s odd. Hels is going through such a slow, but much more constant change from what I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah he’s been at it with the pigs for over an hour now,” interjected Beef. “No signs of changing anytime soon.”

“Exactly, but Wels is full on Jekyll and Hyde. And the switch is much more apparent and more aggressive. Hels doesn’t do more than crack a few jokes and play with the animals,” Doc continued. “I wonder why that is….” he thought aloud.

Ex also added an important point. “He said he didn’t know what had happened. Like he didn’t remember anything.”

At those observations, Tango suddenly felt guilty for what he said prior. Though not as guilty as Xisuma still was. The poor guy was still hesitant about speaking up about the situation. He simply watched as the others discussed. That was until Beef brought it up.

“Right right. Well, we need to get going with this stuff. I was gonna have Suma try to slap in some commands but….” he turned his head to the admin. “I think that’ll wait. Punching Wels over and over is probably just gonna make it worse after he’s already provoked.” He eyed Xisuma pointedly.

Xisuma shuffled sheepishly, feeling the other pairs of eyes on him. “Alright,” he agreed. “But if he’s threatening anyone, I’m interfering.”

Ex chuckled. “No you’re not.” X glared at him, but rolled his eyes. If he was going to try anything, Ex would just hold him back again. Not what he preferred by any means, but nobody was getting hurt at least. He’d rather not keep punching his friends in the face.

Beef clapped his hands together. “Alright! Let’s get on with this, shall we?” The rest nodded in unison. “Great! Evil X, go retrieve the boys and the rest of us will start on some kind of analysis.” With a nod from the evil counterpart, the others split up for their tasks and Xisuma stepped outside.

As Ex walked out back, he couldn’t help but to awe at the knights happily playing with the piglets. Hels especially, even if it was only because of whatever was happening to the two. It was too overbearingly cute to see the usually hateful and malicious knight pull the baby pig up to his face, only to laugh when it licked his nose.

Sadly, Ex had to stop their activities. “Alright, that’s adorable, but we’ve gotta do some tests on ya’.” He pulled the piglets from the two and made a gesture for them to stand while he closed the pen. They followed his directions with little to no hesitation, which he personally found odd considering Wels’s previous mood, but again, he had another one of his mental switches.

Not to mention the fact that Wels was perfectly fine with being around Hels, let alone barely three feet apart behind the fence gate. The knight even would grab some of the pigs and show his counterpart, usually pointing out how some had little brown spots or that some of them weren’t actually pink with awe. It really was interesting. That only made him wonder if Wels had been doing this a couple weeks ago and the Hermits just happened to meet up with him while he was in his happier state of mind, and also somehow avoiding provoking him into lashing out again.

As they made their way back inside, Beef had the two sit on two tables sat far across the room from each other, Wels’s little table surrounded by iron bars and an iron door for the access to get inside. Visibly, everyone saw the knight grimace at his setup and pulled their hands to the hilts of their swords in case a Wels was to throw another tantrum.

But he didn’t. With a worried expression and a shake of his head as if to block off the ever growing hateful thoughts, he walked inside the cage and sat down. Hels on the other hand didn’t have precaution of any type, really. Just a stone table held up on fence posts which he gladly sat on much to Ex’s personal dismay. Oddly, he missed how rude Hels used to be. He was more confident, stronger, and for some reason, Ex weirdly admired his hateful personality. He loved it better when the knight would throw offhand insults jokingly and ask questions about how the over world worked. Even if he wanted to destroy the Hermitcraft server, but Ex knew he could prevent that himself.

Now, the used-to-be dark knight was now swinging his legs back and forth while he sat on the table like a child. Ex couldn’t help but to stifle a laugh at that.

“Alright, Doc, you take Hels, I’ll take Wels. Just poke around, ask some questions if you need to, write down the current changes. I can probably give a good estimate on how long they have before they’ve completely swapped,” Beef explained. “I’m not exactly an expert on this whole thing but I did make the machine after all.”

With a nod from the creeper, the butcher pulled a lever on the side of the room, making glass panes lifted from the floor to separate both parties from each other. Ex stayed on Hels’s side with Doc while Tango stood with Beef and Wels.

For a few minutes, the room was fairly silent minus the occasional “Open your mouth” or “Can you show me your hands”. Tango and Ex watched as the men observed the knights, carefully trying to not provoke either of them into a sudden change in personality. Though Hels still interestingly kept a quite calm and happy demeanor and followed his directions with no hesitation.

Wels on the other hand? Beef felt like he was walking on eggshells. He was closed into the little cage with Wels with enchanted diamond armor- though no sword- and worrying he’d set him off with a jab to the wrong part of his body or the wrong request. However, Wels followed his directions as well, but much sadder than his counterpart. He decided to speak up.

“I’m sorry.”

Beef looked up while the others in the room also turned. “What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Wels, you weren't in control of that,” the butcher replied with a sigh. “You have nothing to say sorry for.”

Wels begged to differ. “I do, Beef. And I don’t know what’s happening and it’s….terrifying not being able to control the outbursts, but just know that….I’m sorry, Tango. For hurting you.” Wels peeked around the butcher and peered outside, speaking to Xisuma. “And I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I don’t know what I did but I heard from outside that I’ve done something to you and I’m very sorry.”

Everyone became silent at his apology. Really, if anything, it made some of them feel worse like the admin outside the building. But still, they accepted his apology happily.

“That was the sappiest apology I’ve ever heard.” Everyone turned their attention to Hels who stared down the other knight with a smirk. “Seriously, you didn’t have to go on about it. I’m sure they already know.”

With a burst of excitement, Ex pulled Hels into yet another spine crushing hug which he reciprocated by patting the other on the back awkwardly. Ex didn’t mind, however, and pulled away with a smile.

“You’re still in there!”

Hels eyed him curiously. “Uh, yes? Is something wrong with you or what?” He peeked around Ex. “Is something wrong with him?”

Ex simply laughed. “No, no, I just….missed how rude you were? That actually sounds odd when you say it out loud.” Nonetheless, the others got the gist. They smiled as well.

“Also what was he apologizing for anyways? Tango doesn’t look injured in the slightest,” asked Hels. He eyed the demon. “But I can change that.” Tango shifted uncomfortably.

Beef rolled his eyes. “There’s the Hels I expected. Be nice, bud. He’s been through a lot today already.” As if to try to seem like some kind of authority, the butcher put his hands on his hips which only earned a laugh from the others. Though, his statement still stood.

“Pfft, alright ‘dad’, whatever you say,” the knight replied sarcastically. That only brought a flush across Beef’s face and wide eyes.

“I uh- okay then,” he stammered. “Well still, just….be as nice as you’re able to.”

With that, the men continued on their examinations, now with more uplifted spirit. Beef could easily point out how oddly pointed Wels’s ears were, how much sharper his canines were becoming, and how dark of a blue his irises were- much to Doc’s frustration. The creeper couldn’t seem to point out any significant changes to the other knight. Nothing more than shorter, but still pointed ears and less of the red scales dotted over his cheeks. He hadn’t seen Hels in person enough to see anything too obvious.

Ex decided to butt in Doc’s examination. Easily, the counterpart could point out that Hels’s eyes were no longer slitted pupils, how much shorter his nails were as opposed to his previous claws. He confirmed the lack of the scales and the ears easily, and how Hels’s own fangs weren’t as long, nor as sharp, as they used to be.

“His hair is lighter, I think,” Ex added, finally. All of his observations brought Doc’s jaw to the floor. Hels mirrored his expression as well.

“You….really pay attention that much?” Hels asked slowly.

“Just need something to do when I’m with you. You’re very different from Wels. You’re taller, for some reason. Your tail is about five feet long, your pupils grow when you’re looking at something you’re interested in, and you always sneeze two times around the oxy daisies,” Ex listed.

Even Tango was gobsmacked by the amount of details. “You just happen to notice those things?! Yeesh, if I didn’t know better I’d say you liked him.”

“Well, yeah I like Hels a lot! He’s my friend, I think?” Ex turned to Hels. “Hey, are we friends?”

Hels just shrugged. “With that much random information, might as well be. Don’t get your hopes up, I’ll just complain the whole time.” Ex grinned in response.

Yet, Tango shook his head with a laugh. “Not what I meant, but I guess that works, too.”

Ex had to think for a moment about what the demon meant before his eyes widened. “Oh! You mean romantically, don’t you?” The counterpart laughed nervously, a flush creeping across his cheeks but it wasn’t too noticeable to the others. “Well, I mean Xisuma had to explain that to me. I suppose that’s a yes to that.”

From outside, they all heard a bark of laughter, quite obviously belonging to their admin.

[florenceandthemachine]

that original lifeline

chapter 2/4 - “you don’t have to be a ghost” - 2.4k

in which Buck doesn’t know how to leave Eddie alone, and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants him to.

read on AO3

“So, how do I know I’m not hallucinating?”

Half a week after being blown up in his own fire truck, nearing the end of his mandated ‘vacation’, and Eddie had just wrapped up one of the better weekends of his entire life. Yes, he was aware of the irony, but any weekend where he got to spend the entire weekend with Chris was a plus in his book. Legos, video games, breakfast food for all three meals, it was literally the kind of weekend that he had absolutely dreamed of when he became a father.

Or, at least, when he resumed being a father after running away to Afghanistan, but that was a whole other can of works that he was bottling up processing in a completely healthy way.

After, though.

After, Eddie had made it all of one day with Chris being in school before he had completely lost his mind. Something about being cooped up in home, speaking to a being that only he could see, without even a hint of human interaction, just didn’t sit right with him.

(Of course, that might have been because the most interaction he had with his team was the occasional text from Hen, but he could work through that hurt later.)

“You really think you’re hallucinating?” Buck’s smile was infectious, more teasing than Eddie would have initially liked, but it was becoming harder and harder to think of Buck as a nuisance instead of a guest. Even now, perched outside of some little pretentious health shop in the heart of LA, Eddie felt more at home with Buck than he had with a stranger before in his life.

Well... Buck wasn’t exactly a stranger, Eddie had to remind himself. After all, they had known one another for most of Eddie’s life.

“Alright, I’ll tell you what. This morning, while Chris was getting, he put two Spider-Man comics into his backpack.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. The kid loves Spider-Man.”

“And an Aquaman comic.”

“Okay, no. No son of mine would betray Marvel for DC.”

Buck smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. If I’m right, then not only are you stuck with a very much not hallucination, but your son is a traitor.”

Eddie laughed, readjusting the earbud in his ear, nails drumming a pattern out on the back of his phone. He had realized, quickly, that when they were out in public, all he had needed was an earbud in one ear and his phone out—that was all he needed to make the change from ‘crazy person talking to an invisible man’ to ‘another asshole in Los Angeles on his Bluetooth’.

He could deal with that—it was always better to be the asshole than to be the crazy person, even though Los Angeles was filled with both. Buck, to his credit, was being incredibly patient with Eddie’s quirks, seemingly realizing that most of them came from Buck’s presence in the first place; not to mention his inability to leave Eddie, for lack of a better term, the fuck alone.

(Seriously. Eddie had come out of the shower that morning to find Buck sitting on the bathroom counter. The noise he made was decidedly not manly.)

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t believe you—“

“Okay, sure, lie to the angel, I’m sure that’s going to work out well for you.”

“—anyway, it’s just... why me? Out of everyone on this planet, why am I one of the lucky few that wound up with a... with a Buck?” Eddie finished, easily trampling over Buck’s objections, smiling as Buck knocked their ankles together beneath the table.

“Wish I could tell you, Eds.” Buck started, shrugging. “You’re my third or fourth human, all I know is that I get the assignment, I come, I go. I’m like a stray cat.”

Eddie actually snorted, swallowing another mouthful of lukewarm, carrot and spinach and mango concoction. “You’re a stray cat that I can only see, that literally lifted a fire truck off of the lower half of my body.”

Buck, at least, had the decency to look chagrined. “I’m... a very strong stray cat?”

Eddie would not give in and bang his head against the stupid little juice bar table. He would not.

“I’m serious, Eddie. The only information I get is that you’re my charge, and I’m your angel,” no, Eddie certainly did not enjoy the way he felt, feeling like he was someone’s anything, “and after that fire truck incident, I’m not sure if the universe is testing you, or if it’s testing me, but either way, you shouldn’t be bearing the brunt of all this.”

Eddie frowned, tapping their ankles together once again, shaking his head. “Buck, if I remember correctly, you’ve been the one saving me, so run that up the flagpole.”

Smiling again, Buck nodded, pushing a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll just tell Athena that, I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Athena?”

“Oh yeah! She’s kind of like, my boss, you’d love her! She’s the reason I’m still hanging around here, she thinks something big is coming.” Buck said, lighting up, even as Eddie choked on his sludge.

“Your boss.”

“Yeah!”

“Heaven... has a hierarchy.”

“Oh, god no.” Buck said with a laugh, shifting in his seat, leaning closer in toward Eddie—like anyone else would hear him. “You know, I’ve never told a mortal this before. Hell, I’ve never even appeared to a mortal before.” he started, and Eddie found himself leaning in closer, mirroring Buck’s motions easily.

“Where I’m from, it’s not all fluffy clouds and harps and halos and shit like everyone thinks. Athena is like your captain—she gives us our assignments, she helps the guardians grow, she keeps us out of trouble. Us guardians, we’re… well, we’re souls that had our time on earth cut short. So, we spend our time with others, we get to see the world, we get to... well, we get to help the people who really deserve help.” Buck says with a grin, and Eddie feels his cheeks heating up as Buck’s leg rests against his, a dull, warm weight, pressed through the fabric of his jeans.

“Something big, huh? I just don’t get it, Buck. I’ve been around people that are in more dangerous situations than I am, every day. What makes me so special that I get the extraterrestrial guardian?”

Buck laughed, the sound catching Eddie off guard so badly that he didn’t even have time to hide his smile. “Well, ignoring the fact that you just called me an alien…”

“Okay, fair.”

“Eddie, you’re the first human that's ever been able to see me, ever. You may not think it’s a lot, but… well, I think you’re pretty special.”

And, well. Eddie couldn’t give a response to that if he wanted to, cheeks an embarrassing shade of pink. Thankfully, Buck seemed to take the cue to move on, knocking their ankles together easily as he stood up from his chair.

“Now, come on. Chris is off of school in about twenty minutes, what say you go surprise him?”

-

After being with the 118 for almost a year, taking a week off of work was straight up weird. Somehow, though, going back to work was actually weirder.

It was easy enough for Eddie to sink back into his regular habits—teasing Chim, buddying up to Hen, causing Bobby a few more grey hairs, but now it felt like everything had been moved a half an inch to the left. He teased Bosko, and he was looking over her shoulder to see if Buck got the joke. Kind asked about Chris, and he shared a fond look with Buck before he beamed at him and went on about his latest accomplishments. He spent some time in the gym, and he couldn’t help the pleased look on his face when he caught Buck staring at him.

The siren rang. Eddie geared up. They pulled out. Buck, inexplicably, rode shotgun, watching Eddie and watching anything but, and Eddie felt happy, happier than he could remember being in a long, long time.

Six hours and four calls into his first shift back with the 118, and he felt alive again.

(The last call they had received was the ever-classic cat in a tree. Eddie had drawn the short stick and got hoisted up to retrieve the tabby, and Buck had sat on the rung right below him, making kissy noises at the cat and cooing at Eddie. Eddie could still feel his cheeks burning.)

He felt alive—even if he could feel Hen staring at him once in a while, painfully perceptive as always.

“So, Eddie, you have a good week off?”

Eddie sighed, knowing full well that Hen wasn’t just asking about his week off, but he knew well enough to play along. “I did, Hen, thanks. Got to spend some time with Chris, got to spend some time around the house, got to get some sun, not that any of that is why you’re asking.”

“What? I have a vested interest in your wellbeing, Edmundo Diaz, that’s what friends are for.” She said, raising a brow as he flopped down on the couch. “So that’s all? Just you and Chris hanging out? No one else?”

Eddie actually felt his heart seize in his chest, and a quick look over to Buck showed the same level of panic on his face that Eddie was feeling in the very core of his being. “Hen, what are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying…” Hen started, sitting with him on the couch, crossing her legs. “I know that look, Eddie. You haven’t looked like that since your first date with what’s her name, Ana? Chris’ teacher?”

Eddie groaned, hiding his head in his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“Just an observation. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you met someone with all that luxurious time off.” Hen said, nudging their shoulders together, and Eddie’s head snapped back up to full attention, face bright red as he looked to Hen, and then back to Buck, who was suspiciously silent.

And hell, Eddie was a good liar, he really was, but Hen looked so sincerely happy for him, and Buck wasn’t exactly waving his arms so Eddie decided to test the waters. “I… didn’t meet anyone. Not in the way that you think, anyway. We, um. We just kind of connected at one of those shitty juice bars.”

“Oooh, okay, what’s her name?” Hen was immediately hooked—equal parts nosy and honestly excited friend, Eddie knew, which was why it was so easy to talk to her about things like this.

Eddie swallowed, fiddling with the hem of his teeshirt. “His name is Buck. We spent some time talking, and we just… we really clicked. He’s smart, and he’s kind of protective, and he told me he loves kids, so…”

If Hen was shocked, she didn’t show it, more than her brows raising an inch or so while she nodded her head. “Alright, Buck at the shitty juice bar. Did he give you his number?”

“No, actually, I gave him mine.”

Hen may have been nosy, but the way her face lit up was pure excited best friend, and Eddie let himself smile back at her as she punched his shoulder. “That is what I’m talking about! Damn, Eddie, look at you, taking the first steps. I’m proud of you!”

Eddie groaned as Hen pulled him into a hug, but he took the moment to look at Buck again—still suspiciously silent, but the corners of his mouth were definitely upturned, and Eddie couldn’t help the relief that washed over his body.

The last thing he wanted was his big fucking mouth ruining whatever tentative relationship he and Buck had built over the past few weeks.

-

“You gave me your number, huh?”

Eddie wasn’t sure what he was more thankful for—the fact that he got to have an active (dare he say fun) first day back at work, or the fact that it wound down with little incident after back to back to back calls. Well, no, right now he was thankful that he was stopped at a stop light when Buck said that so he wasn’t tempted to veer into oncoming traffic out of sheer embarrassment. “Well, it seemed like an easier, less psychotic answer than telling her that you literally lifted a firetruck off of me.”

Buck laughed and Eddie felt himself warming at the sound, turning the wheel as he took off, another comfortable silence falling between them.

“Eddie, you know I won’t be hanging around forever, right? My job is to protect you, and once the universe decides to cut you a break, I’ll… I’ll have to move on.”

Eddie felt his smile fall into something softer as Buck looked out the window, humming thoughtfully, shrugging his shoulder as he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah, I’m aware. But while you are here… no reason we can’t be friendly outside a shitty juice bar, right?”

Tracking Buck’s movement as they slid out of the car, Eddie leaned back against the drivers door of his truck, once again tickled by the thought of Buck riding shotgun with him.

“Well, I… like being friendly with you too, Ed—“

“Dad!”

Eddie immediately snapped his head to the door, grinning as Chris came down the patio stairs, instantly stooping down to pull his kid into his arms, swinging Chris around in an easy hug before setting him back down on his feet. Chris started to ramble on about his day as Eddie pulled his things out from the back seat, pulling duffle bags over his shoulders and papers beneath his arms. He shared an easy smile with Buck as he straightened up, looking back down to Chris as he started to trail off.

“Dad, are you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

Eddie turned on his heel, trying to see if anyone else had come up to the front door while he was standing there, but no, it was just he and Chris, and…

…and Buck, who was now taking Chris’ hand, with a shocked smile on his face.

His son was shaking hands with his guardian angel. His guardian angel, who no one—other than Eddie—was supposed to see.

“I’m Chris. Do you work with my dad?”

What the fuck.

[bunnitears]

Nervous Habit Chapter Two

Thank you so much for 100 notes on the first chapter of this story! It means  so much to me to know that people like my writing! I’m sorry this took longer than I wanted, but I have a lot of ideas for this story. It won’t be too long either, just a few chapters. Thank you so much! Let me know what you think of this chapter, if you want! 

"I didn't believe her, but I'd really, really like to…" 

-----

The rain started to pour down on Maya and I as we stood outside of the Hybrid Shelter. People were scrambling all around us trying to find their way out of the rain. The booming thunder and the blindingly bright crack of lightning against the darkening sky broke me from my anxiety induced state. 

"Y/N come on, we need to get inside!" Maya shouted over the sound of running footsteps and rain hitting the pavement. 

She dragged me by my arm and my feet quickly followed. I know why I'm so nervous, but I feel stupid for feeling this way. 

"Not all men are dangerous. There's some who may have bad intentions, just like there are women who have bad intentions, but not everybody is like that, Y/N" I hear the voice of my therapist echo inside my head. Her words calming me down as Maya holds the heavy glass door open for me. 

The freezing air hitting both of us like a wave crashing on the sea shore, causing us to shiver as we walked inside. If I didn't know better, I'd say I just walked onto a film set for some sci-fi movie. Everything in this building is white and it's kinda unsettling. The floors, walls, countertops, furnishings. There's canvases on the wall, which should be holding marvelous works of colorful artwork, but they don't. They blend into the wall because they've been whited out, as well. What's the point of having a blank canvas on the wall? To remind you of what could have been there? That's a little morbid. 

"Geez… this place could use some remodeling." Maya says with a sneer. I nod my head, agreeing wholeheartedly. You know what,  I wanna go home now… nothing would make me happier than being at home wrapped in my big fluffy comforter with a bag of chips and a cup of iced tea. 

"Okay, let's go check in, yeah?" Maya asks.

The receptionist is sitting behind a very long white desk, typing something into her computer. She looks up at us and smiles, waving us over to her. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail and her makeup is flawless. Some people just always look pulled together, always look their best. Her white dress was probably ironed this morning and is without a single stain or pulled thread. Well, in my jeans and oversized hoodie, with my hair dripping wet and hanging in my face, I'm starting to feel out of place. 

The receptionist glances at me and says, "How may I help you today?" More so talking to Maya and sort of ignoring my presence, but I don't mind at all. Maya's more of a talker anyway. 

"So, my friend here has an appointment at 3:30. She's looking to adopt a Hybrid today!" Maya claps with excitement. She has always had a way with people and I envy her for that, just a little bit. She makes people comfortable, I make them worry. 

"Excellent!" The receptionist exclaims. She asks me for all my information, my name, address, estimated income, credit score. I feel like I'm buying a house with all the information she needs. 

I fidget nervously, tapping on the counter top, as she types my information into her computer. I'm nearly frozen from my wet clothes and the air conditioning that's probably on full blast. Does it have to be that cold in here? Maybe for sanitary reasons? Like a hospital, I'm guessing. I really don't know, but I do know that I'm gonna be an ice cube before I leave this place. 

"Alright… I see that you have an appointment with Dr. Jung Hoseok. He is amazing, really one of our best! I'm sure he'll help you find the perfect Service Hybrid." She says with a smile. 

"He…?" I say hesitantly. I look at Maya and she must have seen the panic in my eyes. She thanks the Barbie Doll-looking lady and leads me to a couch in the corner of the room, far away from anybody. She starts telling me to take deep breaths and not to worry. She says he's a doctor and doctors don't hurt their patients. Yeah, they're not supposed to but I've seen the news. I know not all doctors obey their oath. I feel myself start to zone out, all these "what if" thoughts doing laps in my mind. 

"Y/N?" Maya says. I hear her, but I'm stuck staring at the ground. Has that ever happened to you? Like when you stare at something and you can't seem to look away, no matter what? That happens to me a lot and I don't really know why. Maya starts shaking my shoulder and calling my name, I feel like a child. Why am I like this? "Y/N, I think that's him." 

I look up to see a man in a white coat walking joyfully over to us. He's got dark brown, almost black hair that bounces as he walks. He's smiling like he hasn't got a care in the world. To be honest, he wasn't what I was expecting. He looks like he takes care of himself, lean but not too skinny. I mean, he's attractive… I've never had a good looking doctor before. 

He locked eyes with me and I must have looked nervous because, all of a sudden, his whole vibe softened. He walked a little slower and his smile went from blinding bright to a warm glow.  There was no other seat for him to sit down, so he slowly crouched down in front of me. The way adults do when they talk to children… 

"Are you Y/N?" He asks gently while looking up at me. If I wasn't as still as a stone before, I certainly am now. How am I expected to function at an normal human level, when those beautiful eyes are staring at me like I'm a precious diamond. Like I'm not just a socially anxious girl with a low self esteem and a very great need for a hot chocolate and a hug right now. 

"I'm sorry doctor, she's a little nervous…" I hear Maya say. I feel bad for staring at Dr. Jung, so I resort to staring at my hands resting in my lap instead. My mom always said it's not polite to stare, but I feel like if you're as attractive as Dr. Jung, you have to expect some stares. 

"That's not a problem, I understand." He takes a quick look in the folder he brought with him, and I steal a quick glance. He nods like he understands whatever's in that file, and looks at me once more. His eyes meet mine for a brisk second and I have to abort mission and stare at my hands again. Why is my heart racing? This is my doctor, and even though he's painstakingly handsome, I can't think about him like that. He is my doctor. And that is all. 

"Would you like Maya to join us during our appointment Y/N?" All I can bring myself to do is nod my head and that seems to be enough for him because he stands up and Maya and I follow. We follow him through the lobby and into an awaiting elevator. He pushes the button for the 35th floor and away we go. 

Dr. Jung's office is not exactly what I expected. It's very… colorful. I just assumed that a professional's office would be sophisticated and refined, but his office has cartoon figurines everywhere and paintings of sunflowers on the walls. His wall to wall windows have no drapes or coverings, always allowing the sunshine through. If his office was a person, it'd be just like Dr. Jung; happy. 

"Alrighty Y/N, I have thoroughly evaluated your file and I have no doubt in my mind that you'd benefit from adopting a Service Hybrid." He says. Maya and I take our seats, as does he behind his mahogany desk that's covered with loose papers and knickknacks. A pair of headphones, a couple picture frames, and a bottle of water. 

"See, I told you." Maya whispers as she elbows me jokingly. Her smug smile making Dr. Jung chuckle. Man, his smile is so contagious. No wonder he's a doctor for people like me; he makes people happy. 

"The process is quite simple, all things considered. I have already personally chosen a few that I feel would help you the most, so let me pull up the list." He starts typing away on his keyboard. Maybe this is a good thing. If he really thinks I need a Service Hybrids help, I might actually need it. And as much as I wanna go home right now, I can’t help but feel this is the right move for me. 

"So," He begins. “The are the hybrid I chose is named Min Yoongi. And I know, I know, you have a little bit of a phobia of men, but I assure you Y/N,`` He clasps his hands together on top of his desk and looks at me. "I assure you, this is a good man who will not hurt you. He’s been training for 5 years to be a Service Hybrid and he’s one of the best ones we have." Maya squeezes my hand in an attempt to comfort me. I smile nervously; even though the thought of a man living with me is more terrifying than getting shot, this has to be something I need, right? I can’t continue living my life afraid of men, they’re everywhere. There’s a man less than 5 feet in front of me and he’s not trying to hurt me. I just gotta keep reminding myself that not all men are bad. I’ve gotta trust Dr. Jung and believe that this Yoongi person is only trying to help me. And well, here we go… 

--- 

Dr. Jung brings Maya and I into one of the meeting rooms. It’s supposed to be a calm and comfortable place where Hybrids meet their potential “owners” and get acquainted, but I don’t feel comfortable at all. It’s so cold I can barely feel my hands and the room is all white; save for the Hybrid toys that look too much like dog toys and bright red circular carpet under a semi decorated Christmas tree. At least there’s some festivity in this building… 

“Alright ladies, why don’t you two have a seat and I’ll go and get Yoongi, okay?” Dr. Jung says as I sit down at one of the round tables. Maya starts looking around the room with her hands in her pockets. She always shoves her hands in her pockets when she’s nervous. I’ve known her for too long to not know her habits and little ticks. “Wow… I’m so surprised there’s a Christmas tree here.” She laughs and walks over to me. I giggle, but I’m trying to maintain my heart rate so I don’t have a panic attack, you know? 

“You ready Y/N? This is a huge step for you! I feel like  proud mom right now.” She sits down in the seat next to mine and takes my shaking hands in hers. She keeps reminding me that this is a safe place with people who want to help me and that’s it. All they wanna do is help me, right? I mean, that’s what everyone keeps saying, but I can never really tell. I’m not a great judge of character and I’ve been hurt for being gullible and naive. Can you tell? 

The door behind Maya and I starts to open and we look back to see a smiling Dr. Jung holding the door open for one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my entire life. What is up with all of the guys here? Is there something in the water in this building that makes them all so unbelievably good looking? Or is this just how guys look now? I’m so confused… 

The man Dr. Jung gestures inside is as pale as snow with hair blacker than the sky at midnight. His eyes are sharp and nearly covered by his fringe, but not quite. He’s smaller than Dr. Jung but he looks just as healthy. A little on the skinny side, but maybe he just has a fast metabolism. I’m so distracted by his beauty that it takes me a second to notice the black tail swaying relaxingly behind his legs. And then I look up and notice the tufty, black ears sitting atop his head. What do I do? I’m staring and I can’t look away. Maya help! 

“Y/N, this is Min Yoongi.” Dr. Jung says as he and Yoongi take the seats across from Maya and I. Yoongi seems to be a very relaxed person, or he just doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t seem mean… His eyes are kind, but I can tell he’s putting up some kind of a front. Probably in case this doesn’t go well and he can just wipe me from his memory. I’ve read that some Hybrid species can get attached to someone incredibly easy, so I don’t blame him for the icy exterior. He’s just protecting himself. 

Yoongi and Maya exchange greeting and then Dr. Jung begins to explain my situation. He tells Yoongi about my stupid fear of men and that I have some serious social anxiety and depression. All Yoongi does is nod, he doesn’t say anything throughout Dr. Jung’s explanation. Neither do I. He sometimes mumbles a grunt of understanding, but not much more than that. All he’s doing is staring at me the way a student stares a textbook; like he’s studying me. 

It surprisingly doesn’t make me nearly as uncomfortable as it normally would. Maybe the cold is causing hypothermia to numb my brain. Dr. Jung’s and Maya’s voices starts to fade out of my ears and all I can focus on is the man sitting in front of me. My eyes meet his and I can’t look away. There’s kindness in there, I’m sure of it. 

“Yoongi, why are you so cold?” I ask out of nowhere, interrupting what Maya was saying. I didn’t even realize I was speaking until Maya snaps her head to the side and looks at me in disbelief. I don’t think she was expecting me to say anything for the entirety of this meeting, and honestly, neither did I. Yoongi’s eyes widen a bit, but he plays it off. His body noticeably relaxes, no longer stiff with tension. His gaze falls from my eyes to the top of the table. 

“I’m just uh… trying to get a feel for who you are.” Smooth, I guess? I probably caught his off guard, and I didn’t mean to. Was I rude? Did I come off as a bitch? I messed up, didn’t I. 

“I’m sorry, I just - I didn’t mean to - I don’t know why I - “ What in the world is wrong with me? Why can’t I just conjure up some sort of coherent sentence. I think my mouth disconnected from my brain again. And now my breathing is quickening; great. I love life when I’m wishing I’m dead. 

“No, no Y/N, it’s okay.” Dr. Jung jumps in. He’s a smart man; he probably sees my oncoming panic attack. 

“It’s great you asked! And I’ll tell you something about Yoongi.” He says. “He’s a very caring person. In the 6 years I’ve known him, he’s always been the most generous and nurturing friend. He just has this cold front up because Cat Hybrids like him get attached very easily. If you decided you didn’t want him as a Service Hybrid, it would be easier for him to get over the rejection.” So I was right. Wow, that hardly ever happens. 

“But he’s a very kind person Y/N, I promise.” He nudges Yoongi with his elbow and smiles at him. They must be pretty close because Yoongi smiles back; finally letting his shield down for a second. Maybe this is what I need. Somebody so calm and easy must balance out my unstable and nervous personality somehow. 

Yoongi looks at me while he’s smiling and I can honestly say, I’ve never seen something that made me relax so quickly. Despite his icy shield, I can feel the warmth radiating out of his personality. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all…

[krisseycrystal]

Please, o' Granter of Wishes, in these dark days, I have but one request. On the Decree of Fluff, there lies both Soulmates & Reincarnation. Might I implore thee to pick a preferred option with the Fated Shuake pairing from the tale of Persona 5?

[sage voice] it is done.... 

shuake + “reincarnation” anyway alskdjf gOING TO WORK ON SHUAKE + “SOULMATES” NOW because i can’t help myself and couldn’t decide and honestly that sounds like a LOT of fun and also I have an idea (it will be a LOT happier than this one i promise alksdjfasdf)

thank you SO MUCH for the request, friend!! hope you enjoy and sorry for all the poetry

The Fool’s Courage [Read on AO3]

It starts with the tiny scribble of a pen in the corner of a crossword puzzle book and a, “Hey, any idea what 23 across might be?” which isn’t the way Akechi had ever planned on starting something that could remotely be considered a tragedy or a romance, but here they are.

He knows Kurusu sees the tiny, I think we’ve met before, because there’s a small furrow to his brow and a bend at the corner of his mouth and it’s not that Akechi’s been staring at the slope of that mouth, per se, but he’s always thought everyone else’s claims that the transfer student was hard to read was completely bogus if one just paid attention to the tiny inflictions in his face.

Kurusu adjusts his glasses and pivots the open magazine around the axis of his finger. He grabs Akechi’s pen out of his hand before Akechi can say a word--the nerve--and Akechi would say something, he probably should, but his own fingers are still tingling at that brief contact and he thinks if he tries his voice might betray him.

So he crosses his forearms over the counter and watches his pen--his--idly swing in the space between Kurusu’s thumb to index finger. It’s a rapid, thoughtless movement; it has no right to be so charming.

When Kurusu finally scribbles in the boxes and returns both crossword and pen, Akechi scoffs. “You could have given me a hint. No need to show off.”

Kurusu’s smile is something that handsomely reads, Isn’t that usually my line?

Akechi tries not to smile back. When Mr. Sakura walks up with a phone pinned between his shoulder and cheek, he and Kurusu share a Look that means another order to-go and immediately, Kurusu moves for the disposable containers tucked above the fridge. 

Akechi taps his pen against the puzzle and hums. 

In the string of boxes, the poet of Infinitati Sacrum has been penned in Kurusu’s jagged, near illegible English (really, who taught this boy his English characters?): J-O-H-N-D-O-N-N-E.

He doesn’t know how the hell Kurusu knew that but the echo of possibility makes some, jaded part of him feel hopeful again. More importantly: written to the side, is a dark and small, I think I know what you mean.

When Akechi lifts his eyes, Kurusu is watching him with those quiet, steady eyes. He is too clever, too brilliant, for such an unassuming young man who hides behind thick glasses and a cafe shop counter.

- o - o - o -

It is England and it is Westerham and 1817 and he drank too much wine and made a fool of himself in the downstairs parlor, but it seems there is mercy yet to be found in the inoccupation of this room because damn the sounds this man’s tongue draws out of him are obscene.

In the cooling afterglow, he slips his long-awaited reply in an inside pocket of the man’s black coat, which had been heedlessly tossed over an upholstered chair. After a sweat-slick grin and teasing jibe about being more careful with the articles of his wardrobe or else people might get ideas, he straightens his cravat and dismisses himself out the servant’s halls with a, “Until next time, my dear burglar,” tossed over his shoulder.

It would not be good for him to be seen here.

They will meet again outside of Kent and then it will be strictly business. They have their roles to play after the Good Lady of Ramsgate complained about her missing silver after opening her doors for a social evening. If he wishes to uphold his post, he cannot give anything away about the promiscuous nature of his relationship with the man who is undoubtedly the culprit.

Not if he wishes to see him again in the fall.

- o - o - o -

It’s not just crossword puzzles. Over time, sudokus, word searches, cryptograms--passed from one hand to the other over LeBlanc’s counter--also become the means of their secret correspondences, the channels by which those burning things on the edges of their hearts finally have their chance to speak. Akechi would say he isn’t sure why or how he has become so certain of his and Kurusu’s strange connection, if only every time he looked at the young man, he wasn’t absolutely certain that the soul of him, even if not his face, was somehow familiar.

They start to use ciphers where well-placed puzzles and requests for help with English word searches to loop the letters R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N with a scribbled question mark next to it aren’t enough.

Kurusu struggles with the ciphers at first (adorable), mouth pinched and brow furrowed at the extra effort it takes to work out Akechi’s true message (also adorable). He himself doesn’t attend Shojin, so he can never watch him to verify this hypothesis, but it’s clear that Kurusu must spend some time working on his ciphers during his lectures or between his Metaverse missions because it only takes a single day for Akechi to receive each response, folded inside the cursory napkin between his daily coffee cup and saucer. 

And each time, he is forced to stifle the fluttery, warm feeling in his chest. 

There is nothing for Akechi to be affected about. Certainly not the idea that Kurusu spends at least some of his non-renewable hours and minutes thinking about him and what it is he wishes to tell him.

The happiness is silly. Foolish. It shouldn’t make him glad that a young man who he has been told should be his enemy wants to pursue these conversations, especially when Akechi makes it so difficult to do so in the first place in the hopes of keeping their written messages safe from unwanted eyes.

But their letters are a simple joy.

And Akechi does not have many simple joys in this current life.

- o - o - o -

It is Greece and it is 159 and a new shipment of papyrus has arrived when that damned thief strikes again. This time, just as the previous time, and the time before that, the thief steals more than his employer can afford to lose. At last, at last, having enough of this, the guard lays his trap.

When, by torchlight, with men at either shoulder, they corner the thief in a stone alcove, there’s something glinting in those dark eyes that, ironically, arrests him.

It is something old.

Something familiar.

And he cannot escape the wondering question: have they done this song and dance before?

- o - o - o -

It is 1816 and there are times, though they are few and far inbetween, when his burglar stays late into the night, entwined in the cotton of his sheets, and though he knows it won’t last until morning, the brush of their legs tangled together are enough to power him through centuries apart, he is sure.

“Tell me something you’ve read lately,” he whispers with his cheek pressed to his pillow. He breathes softly as his fingertips trace over the back of his burglar’s hand, following the soft ridge of blue veins under his skin.

“I’m afraid all I have for you are poems,” his burglar murmurs.

“How typical of you.”

“Is Donne too morbid for our faire?”

“If it’s recited by you, it’s perfect.”

And his burglar frowns thoughtfully, eyes askance. Slowly, he rolls onto his back and his arm twists so that his palm is up and settled beside his ear. His own hand follows it and their fingers intertwine.

“I sing the progress of a deathless soul,” his burglar hushedly murmurs and for not the first time, he finds himself marveling at the man’s perfect, rote memory. “Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, placed in most shapes; all times before the law yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing…”

Angels know he could listen to the rumble of that quiet voice forever.

- o - o - o -

The ciphers, admittedly, get out of hand. What starts as, Do you believe in past lives? You probably think I’m crazy and You’re too good at chess to be crazy; I will see what I can find in the school library turns into You seriously need to better your handwriting and I can tell the news station the Detective Prince drinks his coffee here anytime then I have a geography test coming up that I am NOT looking forward to and Have you been sleeping well? You’ve been looking exhausted lately.

They start writing about anything and everything in between. The latest celebrity gossip from the news on the ancient TV with the crooked antenna in the cafe’s corner to their personal likes and dislikes. You can call me Akira, you know, and Very well; then call me Goro. They share childhood experiences both good and bad and dreams and, Have you ever thought about what you might do after your probation year is finally over?

It’s a question Akechi has always longed to ask as someone who has never fooled himself into thinking he might live past the age of eighteen.

He would be lying if he tried to claim that he didn’t look forward to their notes.

They talk over the counter, as a regular and barista so often do.

But it’s so nice, he thinks, so very nice, to have this one good, hidden thing that he can take home and read alone and know the secret message within is meant for his eyes only. He wonders if there is anyone else in the world so lucky as he is to receive an encrypted message in such a scratchy and slanted font.

- o - o - o -

Eastern Han period, China. 768, Egypt. 1511, Italy. The lives and the motif of their stories blur together in a vague idea of memory. They are not sure how and why everything first began. Ask either one and the answer will be a shrug or a turned-away head, beleaguered by a small smile. Have they always been an ill-fated pair? Has their star-crossed story always been that of a thief and a hero? But who is the hero and who is the thief, because Akechi isn’t quite sure he knows anymore.

If the hero is supposed to be the one who saves the day, then he already knows the answer to their age-old riddle. 

In this life, anyway.

- o - o - o -

It’s done. 

Things are as they should be. Maybe how they were meant to be.

Akechi lays in a pool of his own blood, sirens blaring around him, and stares at the steel ceiling of Shido’s ship and knew, somehow, in the center of him, that it would come to this. 

“Great Destiny the Commissary of God,” he whispers and it’s funny, isn’t it? It should be funny. A 1601 poem being somehow relevant and applicable four hundred years later. Akechi supposes that’s what happens when you have two lives who are again and again and again remembering old things and experiencing new ones but are never able to change the repetitions of their fate, these damnable roles they were meant to play.

“That has mark’d out a path and period for everything,” Akechi murmurs and touches the blood pooling over his chest. He lifts his hand above his face and watches the way his own blood webs between his fingers. “Where we of-spring took, our ways and ends see…at one instant…” 

He thinks of Kurusu, which might be precisely what summons him. He can hear the others’ indignant, pitched cries of, “Joker!” as he jumps onto the top of the bulkhead door. With a graceful leap, arm extended, he grabs the railing that lines the walkway along the side of the partition and flips down. Elegant. Stunning.

A fool.

“What…” Akechi coughs and doesn’t get to finish his question. Kurusu’s knees push under his head, red-gloved hands clutching at his shoulder and pulling him up--up--and suddenly there is screaming pain that whites out his thoughts. “Don’t! Don’t…that hurts.”

“Good. Because you’re supposed to live.”

Kurusu is not one to often talk so when he does, it feels like all of nature snaps to attention. Akechi lifts his head in surprise, which is when Kurusu takes the opportunity to press his fingers into the lining where his dark helmet meets the neck of his suit. Akechi opens his mouth to say something like these costumes aren’t supposed to work like that in the Metaverse, idiot, but then Kurusu yanks up and the helmet slips free and--well--shows what he knows. 

Maybe he’s the fool.

“Stay with me.” 

Kurusu’s hand is new and startlingly warm on his cheek. Akechi decides he likes it.

“Thou knot of all causes, thou whose changeless brow ne’r smiles nor frowns.” Akechi laughs and coughs and murky, red spittle dots his lips. 

“Stop it.”

“I always thought that part described you rather well.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be a murderer, Goro.”

Oh.

Akechi sighs and with it, he feels his strength ebb. “You think so?”  

“I know so.” There’s something in Kurusu’s voice that sounds like anger and it is surprising. It is comforting. It is enough to hear it. “You never have been before. You--you have always been brilliant and clever and just, but Shido took you and made you this when we could have been friends. I won’t forgive him for it.”

“Good.” Akechi’s stomach spasms against his will and the pain is near enough to make him black out. It’s time. “Then get him for me, won’t you, Akira?”

“I will.”

“Who knows. Maybe in our next life, we’ll have better luck.” 

Kurusu tilts his head close and leans in. They have never, not once, shown any intimacy but somehow the feeling of those chapped lips against his brow isn’t in the least bit foreign, nor unwelcome. It is all Akechi has ever hoped for.

“I’ll find you,” Kurusu promises and the words seal like a vow in his chest. “And this time, I won’t let them change you.”

- o - o - o -

Memory blurs, that’s the point. If memory didn’t blur you wouldn’t have the fool’s courage to do things again, again, again that tear you apart.

- Joyce Carol Oates, We Were the Mulvaneys